Chapter 2

Seeing more of the country was lovely, if only from train windows. Before this I’d never been further than New Jersey; there was never any need. New Yorkers believe New York is the center of the world, and I maintain they are correct. But if one is to rightfully claim that New York is the center of the world, it adds credibility to know something of the rest of the country for comparison.

However, there’s something to be said for the train cutting dramatically in and out of mountainous steppes, the gently rolling hills in parts of Ohio, and the plains of Indiana and Illinois, interminable miles of fields with the occasional city sprouting up out of nowhere.

The great speeds of the trains surprised me. One could get entirely across the country in mere days. It was freeing and thrilling to think that in our modern day, our vast country was laid open to us if we could afford the tickets. It’s so close and crowded in Manhattan. There’s such breadth out here that it’s a whole other world. I’d never appreciated the sheer scope of America until now.

More hills again in Wisconsin, the land so green, the fields speckled with herds of cows. Jonathon had slept right through the towns, all with names that sounded native. Signs visible from the train windows named countless dairy farms. Jonathon looked so peaceful that I hated to disturb him, but the thought of dairy farms roused my appetite.

I bought an apple in the dining car and sat near neatly dressed ladies with cultivated speech. Three generations, it appeared. The elder matriarch eyed me.

“Traveling alone?” she asked with disapproval.

“Oh, no, my cousin is sleeping. Last-minute journey. Off to a funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” the youngest said. “Where are you from?”

“New York City,” I replied.

“So are we,” she said. “And I can’t wait to get back.”

“Yes, but I’m enjoying the journey,” I replied. “I’ve never been west. What’s St. Paul like?”

She looked at me with an unenthused gaze. “I hear it’s quite the industrious little city full of hard workers. I’m told they put a park atop a hill before Central Park was a gleam in anyone’s eye. Nothing compared to New York, though,” she was quick to add. “Nothing ever compares. Certainly not that slaughterhouse town of Chicago.”

“There you are, Wilhelmina,” Jonathon said, sliding the thick glasses onto his nose and bumping against the ends of tables before taking me by the hand.

“And here is my cousin now. Please excuse me.”

The grandmother looked us up and down, as if we couldn’t possibly be related, and sniffed. “Safe journey, my dear.”

As I led Jonathon away, he murmured. “I’m hungry too, but please, another car. I didn’t take too many of the privileges of my station, but I’ve a weakness for fine food.” He offered his arm, and I led him toward First Class.

I tried not to look like a fool gaping at the gilded details and lavish settings of the elite car as we slid back its carved wooden doors with beveled glass. We were met by a gloved waiter and shown to brocaded seats and a table set with the finest crystal and silver table settings. I’d never even been into such a train car, let alone seated in one. I didn’t want to trouble Jonathon about luxury, but he was a displaced noble and I was a middle-class runaway with only as much in my bag as Mrs. Northe had packed for me, plus a bit of jewelry and my wits. But to hell with it, I wanted a lavish meal and to be courted by a British lord.

“You’ll love Sam. He thinks the best of everyone,” Jonathon began. “He and I met during lectures at the Royal Academy, sitting next to one another. He’d driven his family here mad with wanting to set up his own clinic, so they sent him overseas to learn proper surgery lest he put any more stitches into the family dog.” I laughed as we were brought coffees in gold-trimmed porcelain cups. “We set up a clinic near Covent Garden, the theater district in London. My parents didn’t care what I was doing as long as I wasn’t out whoring or gambling like my uncles…”

A shadow crossed over his face as he said the word “parents.” Now eighteen, Jonathon was an adult, not an orphan, but his parents were recently deceased. Having lost my mother, I knew the pain, but his was fresher than mine.

“Those were amazing days, that summer with Sam, Nat, and me at the clinic. Nathaniel, you’ll have to meet him, too, the nutter,” Jonathon chuckled. “He’s an actor, but he has a habit of collecting melancholy folk who sometimes don’t take care of themselves.”

I wanted to meet everyone in his life. I missed my friends Mary and Edith from school, and Rachel, too. They’d all die to see Jonathon. Here I was, living an adventure we could only have dreamed up. I’d happily trade in the darker side, though. I even missed Maggie, Mrs. Northe’s niece. I’d hoped to become great friends with her, but it hadn’t quite worked out. I wasn’t going to give up on her, though. Somewhere inside Maggie lived a nice girl; I’d have to try to find her.

“Will your friends believe the supernatural parts of our story?”

He snorted. “Sam? Never. Nat? It would prove everything he hopes is true. I’ll end up in his show if I’m not careful. I’ve so much business left to deal with. Mrs. Northe gave me the address in London of a solicitor who will help me. I should just go.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. I didn’t want him to go, of course, but it wasn’t up to me.

We dined like a king and queen, and were treated as such. For the first time I felt what it was like to be a normal girl, not a mute girl, not one of society’s “unfortunates,” but a fortunate girl with every opportunity offered to my sex. We kept the shadows at bay and spoke of travel. He was as curious and insatiable as I was. He wanted to see the world with me. Together it seemed like anything and everything might just be possible.

Back in our private compartment again, I was exhausted, having been unable to doze easily. Subtly loosening the stays of my corset, I laid my head upon Jonathon’s knee. He ran his hand over my hair. My thoughts wandered to that one exquisite trespass within the painting, where I’d felt his fingertips upon my skin directly, and I longed for it again. But nerves had me blushing and sitting up again in the train car, unable to look him in those breathtaking eyes. I went to my bag, dabbing a cream onto my hands rather than just wringing them nervously. I glanced at Jonathon. He was deep in thought.

“We need a signal,” he said. “A word. To know when something is wrong. Something innocuous in conversation that no one would suspect.”

I breathed in the rosewater scent of the cream Mrs. Northe had packed, something exquisite and French with matching perfume. “Rose,” I said. “They’re one of my favorite flowers. That’s a harmless enough word. Rose.”

“A shame to associate one of your favorite things with danger.”

“Well, you’re one of my favorite things. And you’re associated with danger.”

“Fair enough. If we can’t speak, the signal will be pulling on the left side of our collar. Either the word ‘rose’ or the left collar means we play the lie that either of us tell. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to use either signal any time soon.”