CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Madeline.” I stand and smooth my skirt, my mind racing to find a way to explain, to justify snooping around my hostess’s quarters. I can’t come up with anything, so I keep my mouth shut. Admit nothing.

“May I ask what you’re doing in my writing desk?” She floats toward me, and I fight to stand firm. I’ve done nothing wrong. Besides the snooping. But compared to what all those documents implied, that’s hardly anything. Madeline may be older, richer, more influential…

But no. I’m more than that. I’m a time traveler. I straighten my shoulders.

“I wanted to know what you intended to do with the information you requested about the president. And it seems rather clear to me that you have some experience using other people’s secrets for your personal gain. This isn’t what I agreed to. I want to make a difference. I want to make the world a better place.”

“Of course you do,” Madeline says, taking me by surprise. “As do I.”

I hesitate, not entirely trusting the serene look on my hostess’s face.

“Come now,” Madeline says, taking the chair that I’d been sitting on and settling herself down on it. “You wanted to know, so ask. I only came up here to freshen up before my guest of honor arrives, so you’ll have to forgive me for hurrying this discussion along.”

“Your husbands. You targeted old, dying men and blackmailed them into marrying you for their wealth. For your personal gain.”

“My dear girl,” Madeline says, taking a compact of scented powder from one of the desk compartments and using it to pat her face. “It’s not for my personal gain. I am a philanthropic woman. Everything I own, I use for the betterment of society. For suffragettes, for orphanages, for the downtrodden of the world.”

“And for parties with music and dancing and fancy dishes and ballgowns.”

“Yes,” she says with a smile. “Perhaps the world spins differently two hundred years into the future, but at this point in time, money is power. It is influence. And in order to make the world a better place, you need that power and influence.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“But is it really so wrong? To siphon that power and influence from corrupt men who don’t deserve it anyway?”

“That isn’t what I came here for.”

“No. You came here because you wanted an audience with the president, which I am about to give you. Do you really think I’d be able to accomplish that if I were a poor widow living on the streets? Goodness, never! But because I have money, because I have power and influence, I was able to align the stars so that tonight, he’ll be under this very roof.”

“You mean… the party tonight?”

“He is the guest of honor.” She practically beams with delight. “No thanks at all to the Secretary’s nephew or his wife’s cousin, twice removed. I should have never bothered with those awful people.”

“But how? Who did you blackmail to get him here?”

“No one at all. Though I must say, your information about the radio was quite useful; once he heard that I am now the majority stockholder of the DeForest Radio Telephone and Telegraph Company, he seemed quite eager to meet me.” She sets aside the compact and studies me. “Are you always so suspicious?”

“When I have reason to be. What do you intend to tell him when you get him here?”

“That depends on what information you provide me.” Madeline reaches for a small pot of bright red pigment, which she carefully paints onto her lips with a brush. “All men have secrets, and powerful men tend to have more than the average. Once he realizes that none of his are hidden from us, he’ll have no choice but to comply with our wishes. Suffrage for women, an end to the war… nothing we desire will be withheld.

“Now,” she says, taking my arm and guiding me out of the room. “Now that everything is laid out, can I count on you to assist me? I know not all of it is as lovely and cheery as you might have hoped—life in these times rarely is—but I think if you consider the situation carefully, you’ll see that what I’m doing is entirely justifiable and any unpleasantness is worth the price of a better future. That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

I inhale deeply, trying to calm my racing heart and sort through my thoughts. It is what I wanted. It’s what I set out to do when I’d come here: to make the world a better place, to influence those in power to avoid the mistakes that, in my era’s past, they made. And if someone with my foreknowledge had the president’s ear, that might be enough to prevent at least some of the horrors and pain to come.

But at what cost?

“I can’t.” I pull away from her grasp. “I do want those things. I do. And I want to use my knowledge to help others. But I can’t just sit by while you turn the president into your puppet.”

I don’t trust her with that power.

Madeline’s smooth face turns stony and her eyes flash with something wild and dangerous. In that split second, I can see, beneath the refined surface, the true nature of the woman who’d filled those dossiers, who’d manipulated her way into a place of wealth and influence.

“I’m very sorry you feel that way,” she says, her voice low. She leans in and, before I can do anything, her hands are on my shoulders, shoving me with unexpected strength.

I teeter at the top of the stairs, arms flailing for one frozen moment, before gravity pulls my body downward, tumbling me head-first into the polished wooden steps. I throw out my hands to slow my fall, but the edge of the step finds my forehead, and—try as I might to fight against it—the world goes black.

***

I wake on a cot, much harder than the mattress I’ve grown used to. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light of my surroundings. My head throbs, and when I press my hand to my temple, the bruise there makes me wince. Pain radiates from my hip and shoulder, and I rub them as I slowly sit up.

I’m in a dark, cramped room with a door opposite the cot and a small, rectangular window near the ceiling, out of which I can only see the sky, now a deep, dusky blue. From somewhere beyond comes the barely audible sound of music. I must still be on the estate somewhere, but the bare room and stone walls give no indication of where. An unused cellar? A shed on a far edge of the property? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the ringing in my ears, the dizziness, the pain.

My mouth is dry and my pulse thrums through my body, but I stand and brush myself off, determined to take inventory of my surroundings before panicking. There’ll be plenty of time later for that.

First, I try the door. Locked, as I suspected. The knob doesn’t give at all beneath my hand.

On the cot is a single blanket—thin, but well-made. Beside the door sits a crate, and on that, I find a few items obviously left by Madeline: a pen and inkwell and a stack of paper. The top sheet already has some writing on it, and I bring it over to where the pale evening sunlight falls across the wall to read it.

Just seeing Madeline’s wispy scrawls so infuriates me that my hand shakes.

Deep breath. First, read it. There’ll be plenty of time for anger later, too.

I regret that we were unable to become partners in this endeavor, the note reads. It was my wish that we two women could join for a common purpose and, together, rise above this oppressive society that refuses to take us at our word. Since you have decided, however, that you do not wish to participate freely in this pursuit, you force me to resort to less pleasant means of extracting the information I need.

The details outlined on the page within your stockings—

I reach for my leg and am horrified to discover that those hateful articles of clothing have again betrayed me. Somewhere between here and the third-floor staircase where I fell, they slipped from their proper place just above my knee and, in the process, gave up President Wilson’s secrets.

In fury, I aim a kick at the door. It thuds hollowly, making my toes ache. I wish now that I’d kept my shoes.

“My PVDs!” I reach down the front of my blouse and breathe a sign of relief when I discover the glasses, still tucked away and unbroken by my fall. Just the feel of their metallic frames fills me with relief and a renewed determination. She hasn’t gotten me beat yet.

The details outlined on the page within your stockings will be sufficient for the present, Madeline’s note says, but since we are no longer continuing in this operation as equals I must inform you that if, in the coming days and weeks, you wish for my continued hospitality in providing you with food to eat, water to drink, or clean garments to wear, these provisions will come at a cost.

I’m certain that, given enough time, you will find yourself quite adept at recalling useful information. At least I hope so. For your sake. When you are prepared to cooperate, ring the bell for Hugh. He will deliver your information to me, and I will evaluate its worth.

I grind my teeth and crumple the page into a ball. I won’t just sit idly by and feed her information about the upcoming months and years. I won’t.

I snap the pen in half and throw the inkwell against the wall. A dark stain spreads across the stone, shimmering like blood as it courses down the rough surface. I tear the papers in half and toss them in the air. They flutter downward, swirling in a weak draft that flows from the window high above.

I fix my eyes on that window and focus my ears on the distant orchestral songs. I have to get out. And I have to do it tonight, in time to save the president from Madeline’s manicured clutches.