The night along with her distance conspired to hide her true form. The figure hardly appeared human at all. It was more like a trick of light on the glass or a dove low in the air. Or perhaps a more imaginative mind might have seen her as a specter gliding across the lawn. But with time and close inspection, yes, it was a young woman running toward the woods surrounding the estate.

My fingers faltered while buttoning my shirt, and I suspended the task in favor of watching her from my third-floor window. Her hair flew out behind her, much like a mane of an ungroomed horse, long and fluid. She wore a white shift, more nightwear than a dress since it exposed her arms as well as her legs, below the knee. But who can tell with women's fashion these days growing ever more daring. It could very well be just the thing for the jazz club or a speakeasy. But we were very far from either of these.

The lack of shoes on her feet, however, could not be attributed to style. Her legs were so white, I may have guessed she wore stocking, but her bare arms were just as pale and wan. It was an unhealthy hue, barely different from her dress or the moonlight that put dabs of silver on the lush green of the trees she was nearing.

She ran with long, graceful lopes. But I could not interpret the purpose of her flight. Was it fueled by fear or excitement? Did she run from something or toward someone? A lover, perhaps?

She must have marked an unseen path in the undergrowth since she did not slow when she passed beyond the manicured lawn into the wilder grass. And in the space of a breath, she was gone, lost to the woods. Not even a flash of white between the trees could be seen of her passing.

When it seemed she would not reappear, I turned back to dressing. The emptiness within me was pressing and my appetite had grown too great to ignore. With reluctance, I left the window and told myself I would find not only food downstairs but also information about this woman.

***

The halls were all wood paneling and formal portraits with too many doors to keep track of. The light was dim from the gaslight sconces, which were turned down low. It was dreary for my tastes. There was nothing homey about it. It reminded me of the university buildings from my time as a student. A million years ago, now. Before the war.

I took a few misturns but found my way down a small set of stairs, probably the servant's, then to the grand case down to the main level. It was mausoleum quiet. No people and no stirrings. But any thoughts of being alone in this vast palace were dispelled when I came to an open door and saw a man sitting at a desk. He was jotting down line after line furiously and didn't notice me. His head eclipsed the lamp, and the light haloed his bushy pelt of steel-gray hair. When he leaned in closer to the page, the electric bulb was exposed and revealed that I was, in fact, in the present and had not drifted back to some Brontë novel with moors and lordly estates.

I cleared my throat, prompting my host to look up from his writings.

"Ah, there you are. At last." He carefully placed his pen back in its holder and blotted the paper before closing his leger and getting up to greet me.

"There's a woman," I said. "Outside. She ran into the woods."

His brow arched on his wrinkled forehead, and he pressed a finger to the skin at his temple, where it was stretched parchment thin and a network of veins glimmered through. "A woman, you say? In the woods? That seems rather unlikely."

"I saw her from my window. It appeared as though she was coming from the house. This woman—this girl was barefoot. Is she a servant of yours or another guest?"

He came up to me and gave me a thin smile, and for a second, he looked like the photos I've seen of him in the medical journals. Gripping my arm, Dr. Emrick led me from his study and back down the hallway, the way I'd come. "I'm sorry, but that's quite impossible this time of night. There's only us two and Vernon here." Then changing to a more jovial tone, he said, "I trust you had a good rest? But you must be starved. Let us fix that."

"I saw her. I swear. She was running. She might be in some danger."

"I shall have Vernon take a look. But we are out on our own here at Foxcroft House. It is unlikely for someone to come all this way, to what? Jog about the grounds? Certainly, no one would be out here this close to midnight."

"Forgive me," I said, realizing for the first time how late I'd slept. "I suppose I've been keeping you waiting. I must have been more tired from my travels than I thought."

"It's quite alright." He gave a low chuckle to make light of the situation and to ease my embarrassment. "You had a long journey. I do not blame you for being tired after coming so far."

"Yes," I said. "I'm not as used to it as I once was. It takes a toll."

His laugh grew, and I suspected his humor was not kindness but rather, some joke directed at my expense. Although I could not grasp what this jibe might be.

We entered the dining room, a lavish space with red Chinese paper above the wainscoting and a table that might seat two-dozen guests. But tonight, only a place at the end and one to its left had been set. A cold dinner had been set out on a large oak sideboard, and my hunger was so great that it only took a nod of my host for me to fill a plate.

I foraged through the platters of meats, cheeses, and breads, and Dr. Emrick filled a glass of claret. He held it to the bluish light of a gas jet as though admiring the perfection of the pour. In the cut-crystal, the wine sparkled like rubies.

He placed it by me, and taking my seat, I thanked him.

"Is the meal to your liking?" He asked once he settled into his place at the head of the table.

My mouth was too full to answer and I was forced to nod vigorously. I was making a spectacle of myself with a chicken drumstick gnawed to the bone in one hand and a slice of dark bread in the other. When I finally swallowed, I apologized for my manners.

"Think nothing of it. It's quite understandable. It has been some time since you last ate. Please, sate yourself. Eat and drink. Enjoy. I am merely happy to have the company. It does get lonely here. Oh, there's always visitors coming and going, but so few I can talk to. And guests of your intellect are rare indeed, Dr. Cardin."

"Please, call me..." My voice choked off by a stubborn crust caught in my throat that needed a gulp of wine to clear.

The older man ignored my struggle and said, "Well, Richard, I'll tell you, I am excited you are here. I'm sure we will have some lively discussions in the coming days." He sat with his elbow on the table and head poised on his hand, regarding me.

"Are you not eating?" I asked, realizing he had not taken a plate.

"I had something earlier while you were resting."

"Join me in a glass of this fine wine, at any rate?"

"I'm afraid I do not drink the stuff anymore. My liver isn't what it once was." He pressed a hand to his belly as if the mention of the disorder had caused him pain. "But don't let me stop you. I want you to feel at home here. Tomorrow, I'll give you a tour of the house and the extensive gardens. I'm sure you will enjoy exploring them."

The mention of the gardens brought the vision from earlier back to mind. "The woman," I said. "You mentioned sending someone to look for her."

"Certainly. I'm sure it's nothing but no harm in checking, I suppose." Then, he called for his servant as a man might summon a disobedient dog.

"Vernon," he yelled, directing his voice at the door and the hall beyond. "Vernon, come."

We waited, listening, as the footsteps on the marble floor grew louder, little by little, until a stocky man in his fifties entered. He didn't speak, only stood with his hands clapped and his head bowed. Vernon was dressed more like a handyman than a butler, in drab heavy cotton work pants and a wilted but clean shirt.

Dr. Emrick explained the situation and what I had seen. "Have a look, will you," he said, and Vernon nodded and left without ever saying a word.

When there was nothing left on my plate but crumbs and small puddles of grease and sauces, I sat back and took up a fresh glass of wine. I said, "Why exactly have you asked me here?"

The question had been bothering me for a while. We were hardly friends. Oh, we'd met often enough at symposiums and conferences. Still, our relationship had mainly consisted of heated debates through the various journals that competed to publish our work. Or rather, published our competing work.

While he considered his answer. he stretched his veiny hands out on the table. The sleeves of his jacked road up his forearms, and his shirt gleamed with an incandescent whiteness. His frown assured me that what he was about to say was weighed with the greatest of care.

"Dr. Cardin—Richard, if you will indulge me, I am prepared to reveal to you—in time—my latest discovery. A breakthrough that I dare say will rock the institutions we both hold dear."

"What is it? What is this thing you have done?"

"In time," he repeated. "I'm not prepared at the moment. But soon."

"Tomorrow?" I pressed him.

"In a few days. I promise your patience will be rewarded. Take the opportunity to recover from your journey," The sneering smile from before flickered on his face, but it was gone so quickly, it may have been my imagination. "Rest and enjoy the country air. It's much more rejuvenation than your Chicago, and I'm sure you will appreciate the change."

"Come. Come," I said to him, leaning in. "We are both busy men. Neither one of us has the luxury of lounging about being idle. This coyness of yours ill serves us both."

He stifled a yawn in his fist. "Very well. But it is far too late to start in on it tonight." I began to protest, but he cut me off. "Trust me. Once I tell you what it is, you will want to hear it all. Then, you shall want a demonstration, and the next thing you know, it will be dawn. That may be fine for you. You're young and have spent the day resting. But as for myself, I have stayed up longer than I should have already. But no need to pout. Join me for breakfast in the morning, and I'll explain everything."

At that, he guided me back to my room, which I was grateful for, as I'm not sure I would have found it on my own. He bid me goodnight, but I was unable to sleep, so I sat by the window and stared out at the moonlit grounds instead.

But despite my vigil, the woman did not show herself again that night.