Page 4 of The Gods Time Forgot

Four

The Conleth Falls train station was as unimpressive as it was outdated, though Flossie had assured her that it was newly built—perhaps to convince herself that the Catskill region was a worthwhile place to summer.

They stood waiting in the dirt along with thirty other men and women as the massive train car rolled into place. Rua wasn’t quite sure the train would make it under the wooden pavilion that served as the boarding station. The words CONLETH FALLS R. R. STATION were displayed proudly in bold black-painted letters.

She was shocked to find that Mrs. Haughty Harrington was willing to stand on the ground, letting her satin boots gather dust. They were now so far removed from the stateliness of the country estate.

Rua wasn’t sorry to be leaving the property, but she was worried that she was moving away from the place that held her answers. She couldn’t explain it, and perhaps it was all in her head, but since drinking the water at the hellmouth, she’d felt surer in her thoughts and choices. She only hoped that the effects might linger.

“Oh, why is the station so crowded today?” Flossie muttered. “Speak to no one, look at no one. We’re almost gone.”

“Why don’t I just cover my face altogether, then?” Rua said, tipping her white parasol forward so that her face all but disappeared.

“Much better,” Flossie answered.

At that moment, Rua realized she might be making a mistake. She’d only known Flossie a week, and already she found her unbearable. What was she thinking, moving to a new city with her? A place where she might not be allowed to leave the house at all for fear of damaging Emma’s reputation?

Rua looked to Mara beside her, who offered an encouraging smile. No, this was the right choice. She could not live alone in Conleth Falls. She’d have had herself labeled a runaway and carted off to the nearest asylum the moment she was caught. Moving to Manhattan had been her only option. For now, she would have to put Conleth Falls behind her.

A few minutes later, the horns blew, and the conductor began shouting for the patrons to board.

Rua climbed up the stairs to the enormous passenger car without bothering to look back. She didn’t need to. The bad feelings were climbing on board with her.

The scent of vanilla and cigars enveloped Rua as she entered the car. The thick maroon carpet cushioned her steps, and the oak paneled walls breathed warmth into the air. Tables and sofas lined the sides of the train, but Flossie and her party appeared to be the only passengers in this first-class car.

Rua took a seat by the window and opened Emma’s mind-numbing book on embroidery. If Emma knew how to embroider, then Rua should too, though she wasn’t sure how easy it would be to learn. Mara sat across from her, just staring out at the slow-passing landscape as the train departed.

Rua read the same sentence three or four times over without ever seeing the words. All she could think about was the growing distance between her and the hellmouth. Like she was leaving the very place that could save her.

She glanced across the train car at Flossie, who had one eye on the waiter talking to her and the other on Rua. Rua sighed, knowing she had invited the matriarch’s attention.

Flossie glided over to her. “Put your book down,” she said, sitting in front of Rua, folding her hands in her lap.

Rua meant to groan inwardly, but a slight squeak escaped. Flossie’s nostrils flared.

“I must impress upon you the seriousness of what I’m about to say. One more misstep, one more toe out of line, and you will be dealt with accordingly.”

Rua sat in silence as Mara and Flossie’s lady’s maid pretended not to listen.

“Your father’s deal with Richard has catapulted us right to the top of all the important invite lists, and I will not have you ruin that.”

Rua nodded and wondered what additional secrets of Emma’s might pop up and undermine her efforts to stay on Flossie’s good side. The train began to pick up speed, forcing Rua to adjust in her seat.

“Well, if you don’t mind, Mother.” The word stuck to the roof of Rua’s mouth. “I’d really love to get back to my book.” The criticisms coated in delicate dictation were wearing her patience thin.

Rua caught the warning look Mara gave her a second too late.

Flossie’s face expression turned dark. “Have I not made myself clear?”

“You have,” Rua said quickly.

Flossie leaned forward. “Do you see that?” She pointed out the window.

Through the fog, in the middle of the river, Rua could make out the shape of a large, ominous structure—an island connected by a road so narrow it was barely visible. As the train rolled closer to the island, Rua could see the dilapidated brick building and the massive iron fence that surrounded it. In rusted letters, she read the words BOA ISLAND SANITARIUM .

Without thinking, she moved closer to the window, hands pressed against the glass. She couldn’t peel her eyes away. Fear slithered down her throat and coiled itself around her chest, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Flossie moved beside her, speaking low so the train attendants wouldn’t hear. “I’ve already made the necessary inquiries. They’re all but expecting you at this point. Give me one more reason, darling.”

Rua’s blood turned cold as she swallowed the lump in her throat. That building looked like it couldn’t keep itself from collapsing, never mind house patients. Surely Flossie could afford better?

“Might you bring us some tea?” she heard Flossie ask. “My daughter is simply beside herself at the thought of leaving Conleth Falls.”

Stunned, Rua moved back to her seat. Mara looked just as rattled as Rua felt.

For the remainder of the journey, Rua was silent. Flossie had made her point. Driven it home in the most efficient way possible. And Rua wondered if she might not have been better off if she’d just run.

By the time they arrived in Manhattan, night had fallen, but the Thirtieth Street station was bustling.

“Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” Flossie warned as they deboarded the train. “We don’t need our luggage stolen.”

The Harringtons’ driver met them at the station doors, and they entered their carriage.

Rua fell in and out of sleep as they rode to the Harringtons’ home. Nightmares filled with the memories of being trapped in the narrow passage of the hellmouth, coupled with the threat of the asylum, left her feeling the worse for wear.

The streetlamps cast a dull glow over the sidewalk as they arrived in front of the massive neoclassical home. As far as Rua could tell, it took up the entirety of the block.

“Good evening, Mrs. Harrington, Miss Harrington. I trust your journey back was pleasant enough,” a woman with an air of authority greeted them as they walked through the door. She was tall, with square shoulders and rigid posture. Rua guessed the housekeeper was nearing Mrs. Harrington’s age.

“Mrs. Smith, we have much to discuss,” Mrs. Harrington said, getting straight to business, not minding the late hour.

“The vases were delivered this morning. I’ve unpacked them and put them in the breakfast room,” Mrs. Smith said.

“What about the artwork?”

“Hung in your husband’s office.”

“I must have a look,” Flossie said excitedly. Rua wondered if Flossie single-handedly decorated the Harrington residences. An amazing feat, if so; the country estate was curated to perfection, and Rua could already tell that this home was the same.

“Take her right upstairs. We have a full social calendar. And that girl needs all the rest she can get,” Flossie said.

As Rua’s eyes fully adjusted to the light inside, she couldn’t help but wake up and admire everything. The entire foyer was made of marble. The floors, the walls, the staircases—everything. And yet it wasn’t cold. The heat from the fire hugged her as she followed Mara and Mrs. Smith up the stairs.

When they reached the top of the second staircase, they turned right and walked down a long corridor lined with portraits of people she didn’t know.

Mrs. Smith opened the door to her bedchamber. “Your personal effects have already arrived,” she said before leaving and taking Mara with her.

The bed was raised on a carpeted platform and had an ornate white oak headboard, with a ceiling-height curtain resting above it. The curtain and the comforter were made of matching silk in a glistening shade of pale purple and ornamented with pearls and other embroideries.

In front of the bed stood a marble desk with white oak legs and a matching white oak chair. A chaise matching the lilac embroidery rested in the corner under a massive window. Chandelier sconces had been placed on every wall, and each one was lit with candles. All of it was one thousand times better than the pink room in Conleth Falls.

A chambermaid Rua didn’t recognize entered the room to dress her for bed. While she wrapped Rua’s worn gown to take it to be laundered, Rua remembered a piece of chocolate she’d left in the pocket. “Wait!” she shouted, and the woman jumped.

“Sorry,” Rua whispered, and gave an awkward smile. “I left something in the pocket.”

When she stepped forward to retrieve it, the maid took a panicked step backward. Rua frowned and took another step. The maid gasped, dropped the gown altogether, and fled.

“Wonderful,” Rua groaned as she took the sweet treat out of the pocket of the gown. It seemed all the servants were privy to Emma’s transgressions.

She left the chocolate on her side table, climbed onto her new plush bed, and slid under the sheets.

Relief washed over her as she sank into the pillow. Tomorrow was a new day and a new start. She’d put Emma’s Conleth Falls mess behind her, and she’d be the picture of perfection while she worked to uncover the truth of her past.

The next morning, Rua woke before dawn. Excitement coursed through her as she gazed out the window, knowing she was in Manhattan. At least in the city, if she decided it was all too much and she needed to run, she could beg, borrow, and steal to find her way. In Conleth Falls, she’d have been left to the wolves.

A small garden sat below her window, and she decided she’d like to sit there and watch the sun rise.

She opened the armoire and slipped what she hoped was a morning dress over her head. Forgoing the eighteen layers of undergarments, she opted for a shawl to cover her shoulders on the off chance there was a chill in the air.

Rua wandered around the massive residence until she found the veranda. The house was mostly quiet, save for a few servants mulling about who either didn’t see her or were ignoring her outright.

The doors were heavy and stuck with the humidity, but she managed to get out without making too much noise. There was no warm summer breeze to greet her as she descended the steps, only putrid city air.

She moseyed around the garden, admiring the fullness of the blue and purple hydrangeas. A charming white table and chairs sat tucked among the flower bushes. This was where she should plop herself down and enjoy the morning. But across from the table set, roses crawled up a wrought-iron lattice connected to a gated pathway that she assumed led to the street.

On one hand, she should stay put, but on the other, Flossie was still asleep, and how much trouble could Rua really get into on a morning walk?

Rua lifted the latch and pushed open the gate. The part of her that knew she should be more considerate of Flossie’s warnings all but disappeared as she gazed upon the cobbled streets. The world was quiet, lending itself to her belief that all would be fine.

She walked a few blocks until she reached Central Park, the charming natural oasis at the top of a crowded city. Flossie had mentioned the proximity to their home only a few dozen times in the last day.

Rua wrapped her shawl around her head and walked along Fifth Avenue until she found an accessible entrance to the park. She followed the steps down to a large castle-like brick building.

With the break of daylight came a chaotic symphony of animal sounds. Squawking, bleating, growling. Perturbed, she followed the noise around to the back, where she read the words CENTRAL PARK MENAGERIE . She watched with revulsion as handlers fed and prepped the poor animals. Hippos, bears, lions, peacocks, just to name a few, all within a few strides of one another. Displaced and held captive by their small cages and narrow enclosures. The smell was rife. The situation bleak.

At the sound of a lion’s roar, she decided she’d seen enough of the zoo.

She continued along the manicured path, enjoying the lush gardens against the backdrop of the violent red sky. Caught up in her reverie, she hardly noticed when she’d somehow exited the park.

Horse trolleys and couriers flooded the street. Men appeared as if out of thin air as they pushed past her, hurrying to get where they were going. They were not the sort of men Flossie would approve of. None of what she was doing was on Flossie’s list of acceptable activities, a fact that both delighted and worried her. Perhaps she’d done enough exploring for one morning.

A sudden throng of people shuffled her across Fifty-Ninth Street.

Maneuvering between the men speed-walking past her was all but impossible. They were so focused on where they were going that they didn’t seem to notice they were bouncing her around like a play toy.

“Move out of the way!” one man shouted at her, while another plowed his shoulder into her as he rushed past. She stumbled forward, doing all she could not to fall on the ground and be trampled. She caught herself on a lamppost and clung to it.

On the other side of the sidewalk was an abandoned-looking construction site that promised a respite from the hurried crowd around her. Rua hung on to the lamppost, waiting for a small break in the swarm, dreading walking perpendicular to the flow of traffic. Finally seeing her chance, Rua pushed through.

She was too determined to notice that she’d crossed through a barricade, but at least it was quiet.

Rua walked beside the makeshift railing, the only thing blocking her from falling into the massive pit that had been dug. She paused, amazed at the sheer size of the hole, which implied a future enormous building.

“What is it that you think you are doing?” a man shouted.

Instinctively, Rua reached for her shawl.

“I’m speaking to you,” he said, his Irish accent pronounced.

Clutching her shawl tighter around her face, she regretted ever leaving the Harringtons’ garden.

The man walked around to Rua’s front, stopping mere inches from her, overwhelming her with his size. She could tell from his pressed morning coat and condescending tone that he was a person of means.

Her heart battered against her rib cage. Flossie was going to kill her. Her first day in the city and she’d already ruined everything.

She should make a run for it back to the house. Now was her chance. The man didn’t know who she was, and she doubted he’d chase after her. But his harshness had her feet firmly planted.

“Are you mute?” he asked, not caring for the answer. “It is no matter. Prostitutes are not permitted on these premises. You must take your services elsewhere.” He reached for her hand, gently placing a large coin in her palm.

As the money settled in her hand, she realized what he’d just said.

“Prostitute?” She glanced down at her gown. She’d forgone changing into the proper walking attire this morning and her arms were bare, but was her being a prostitute truly the only logical conclusion?

She craned her neck upward to glare at him, the money heavy in her hand, and her shawl fell to her shoulders.

He looked at her then—really looked at her—and his offense melted into confusion. His dark brows furrowed as he examined her face. She felt a rush of heat under the scrutiny.

He was handsome, devastatingly so.

Pushing aside the unwelcome fluttering in her stomach, she reached for his hand. She swallowed hard, stunned by her own boldness.

He gave it to her freely, no doubt curious to see what she was going to do next.

Unprepared for the way touching his skin would make her feel, her heartbeat quickened. Slowly, she turned his hand over so that his knuckles rested against her palm, the tips of her fingers brushing his wrist under the hem of his sleeve. She could have sworn she heard him suck in a harsh breath, but she couldn’t look to see, couldn’t meet his gaze, because her own breath was faltering.

It was far more intimate than she’d intended it to be. She had only wanted to give the money back to him the same way he had given it to her. But here she was, holding him with one hand while her other worked to relax his fist, lifting one finger at a time, tracing the length of it until it was flat against hers. She stared at it, forgetting her purpose, admiring his palm, coarse with scars. His skin was warm against hers; she couldn’t breathe.

Wishing to break the spell, she looked up. But when she met his eyes, she realized that was a mistake. His gaze bored deep into hers, knocking what little air she had left from her lungs. She couldn’t place the look on his face. Bewilderment, longing, irritation? They all melded into one.

She was frozen, caught in a haze of almost recognition, the answer there on the tip of her tongue but, like everything else, indefinitely irretrievable.

Recovering herself, she cleared her throat and put the coin in his hand. Severing any lingering tension, she said, “I demand an apology.”

He stared at the coin a moment, a smirk tugging on his lips, then tucked it into his breast coat pocket. “An apology for what?”

“I thought as much.” She had no expectations for the men in this world. They kept their women in corsets and confined to the home.

She turned her back to him and continued walking along the perimeter of the construction site, toward what she thought was the way to the Harrington house. This morning had gotten so far out of hand. She needed to get back before Flossie caught wind of it.

“Tell me, then, what other reason is there for a woman to be walking alone at this hour of the morning?” he asked, catching up to her.

“Rather than admit you’re wrong, you’d pretend your mind cannot comprehend the possibility of another motive for a woman on a walk?”

“Not before the sun is up, I can’t,” he said.

She glanced up at the morning sky, confirming that the sun had yet to rise.

She frowned. “Well, just so you’re aware, you’re wrong,” she said, looking sideways at him. He was a Goliath of a man with perfect proportions and a face she could almost place.

“Tell me, then, if not for work, then where is it that you were going at this hour, Miss …?” He waited for her to fill in her name. She didn’t.

“I’m afraid that’s none of your concern. And come to think of it, I’d prefer if you stopped following me now.” She needed to return and pretend this never happened. She couldn’t imagine what Flossie would do if she heard about the interaction.

When he did not respond, she looked behind her, finding him yards away, arms folded across his chest. A flicker of disappointment flared in her chest, though she didn’t know why. He’d done as she’d asked.

She continued walking, flexing her palm, wondering why she could still feel the touch of his hand on her skin.