I turned off the light and lay down, pushing the top sheet and thin blanket aside. The click-clack of the wheels seemed to pound into my brain, and I felt the first throb of an impending headache. I tried to settle my body and thoughts, but I couldn’t get comfortable. The walls seemed to shift unnervingly whenever I changed position, and the pillowcase soon felt as warm as my face.
I considered getting a glass of water, but standing felt like an impossibly grueling task. My arms and legs were weighed down with exhaustion, and I knew sitting up would send hideous darts of pain shooting through my head. I lay in overheated, uncomfortable misery for what could have been minutes or hours, my mind drifting between fragments of memories and dreams. The steady chug of the train punctuated visions of my mother, urging me on. I saw Constance Headly, shaking her head, telling me to stay away from the Lemonts. I remembered the steward Charles handing me a cocktail with a deferential smile and treating me as an honored guest. As if I deserved to be here, as if I belonged at Matthew’s side . . .
The train took a sudden turn and jolted me to the edge of the mattress. The whistle shrieked, and I opened my eyes. A bright flash illuminated the bed, and I realized we were passing through a town, the streetlamps forming an alternating pattern of darkness and light as we zipped by. Groggy and disoriented, I lifted my head and was confused by a strange, bulky mass that seemed to be looming over me. Then another burst lit up the room, and I saw it was Matthew, wearing blue-and-white striped pajamas. He was standing perfectly still, staring at me.
My body tensed with something that went beyond terror, a fear not just of him but also for myself and my own sanity. The man in front of me looked like Matthew, but it wasn’t the same man I’d seen across the table at dinner. His arms and legs were rigid, the muscles tightly clenched, as if he was using all his force of will to hold himself back. His agitated eyes swept across the bed, and I realized to my horror that I was nearly naked, with my slip halfway off my shoulders and the skirt hiked up my thighs.
I wanted to scream, to burrow under the sheets so I wouldn’t have to look at his disturbingly blank expression. But I couldn’t move. The scene had the peculiar unreality of a nightmare, and I felt the same helplessness I’d experienced in my dreams: legs that wouldn’t obey when I tried to run, a voice that couldn’t be summoned when I called out for help.
“Matthew . . . ,” I whispered. I felt my lips form the name, but I couldn’t tell if I made a sound. The room went black as the train left the town and raced through the countryside. I stared into the darkness. A narrow beam of illumination crept through an opening in the doorway, enough for me to see that the compartment was empty. Matthew was gone.
The door slammed against the wall as the train sped up, and I leapt up, throwing my body against it and shutting the bolt. I couldn’t remember if I’d locked it before. I curled into the farthest corner of the bed, shaky with motion sickness, my head prickly with pain. I tried to think logically, to find a reasonable explanation for what I’d seen. Matthew could have been sleepwalking. He might have come by to check on me and been too embarrassed by my disheveled state to say anything.
But I knew Matthew hadn’t stopped in for a friendly chat. His wild eyes and tense body had frightened me. Or had I frightened myself? The whole incident was so odd, so out of character. I was half-delirious with the heat, and an impending hangover made it hard to concentrate. It must have been a dream.
But I couldn’t help remembering Aunt Constance’s warning. I’d brushed her off because I didn’t believe Matthew could be dangerous. Now I did.
CHAPTER THREE
Matthew was already eating when I walked into the dining room the next morning. I smiled warily as he stood up and pulled out a chair.
“Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
There was no hesitation, no trace of embarrassment. No acknowledgment of what had happened in my compartment the previous night. I sat down and stared at the serving platter piled with eggs and bacon and toast in the middle of the table. If Matthew was putting on an act, it was perfectly played.
“I did have a rather strange dream,” I said at last.
“Oh?”
Matthew’s face revealed nothing other than polite interest. Had I been dreaming? Looking at Matthew in the bright morning sunshine, content and well rested, I began to doubt my own memory. It already seemed ridiculous that I’d thought of him as frightening, and I didn’t see how I could bring up the incident without offending him.
“It’s not important,” I said nonchalantly. “I’ve already forgotten it.” And maybe it was better I did.
“Well, I’m glad you were able to sleep in,” he said, “because we’ve got a big day ahead. We’ll be arriving in Chicago earlier than expected, and I thought I’d show you around.”
“Are you sure you have time?”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve telegrammed the office and told them I’ll be taking a few days off. You accused me of never having fun—well, I’m going to prove you wrong.”
Matthew was so charming, so obviously pleased about our upcoming adventure, that it was easy to dismiss any lingering doubts. When we arrived, his car and driver were waiting at Union Station, ready to take us on a tour of the chaotic city. I craned my neck at the soaring office buildings that reached toward the clouds and marveled at the crowds along State Street, a horde of strangers propelled by a common ambition. The whole experience had an air of unreality, as if I couldn’t possibly be here with Matthew in this sprawling, unfamiliar place. These hours might be only a brief interlude in my otherwise humdrum life, but those downtown blocks hummed with a restless energy that resonated with my own hopes.
Like me, Chicago was striving for more.
I begged off dinner, saying my cousin was expecting me, and Blanche was amusingly flabbergasted when I told her who’d dropped me off at her boardinghouse. Though we hadn’t seen each other in years, I’d made a point of staying in touch with Aunt Nellie’s family, remembering their kindness when they were my guardians. Blanche had moved to Chicago the year before and was working as a nightclub coat-check girl while she tried to make it as a singer. She had the kind of bubbly personality that puts people instantly at ease, and I guessed she wouldn’t be stuck behind a counter for long.
Blanche told me she’d seen Marjorie Lemont at the club, but never her brother.
“He’s quite a man of mystery,” she gushed. “The very last person I’d expect to sweep a girl off her feet!”
For the first time, I saw the puzzlement that would be directed my way in the weeks and months to come: Why would someone like him be interested in someone like you? I had no answer. There was nothing to set me apart from the hundreds of prettier, more sophisticated girls Matthew must have met in his lifetime. I still couldn’t quite believe it myself.
When Matthew picked me up for lunch the next day, I resolved not to drop any coy hints about my expectations or how long I planned to be in town. I’d be a happy-go-lucky traveler, seeing the sights with my new friend.