City of Darkness and Light (8 page)

“But I can’t possibly share with…” She frowned at us again and left the rest of the sentence hanging.

“Perhaps the purser will be able to find you alternative accommodation with somebody more suitable,” I said.

“I heard someone saying that the ship was completely full. Really this is too tiresome.” She gave an annoyed little sigh. Liam, now satisfied and curious to know with whom his mother was speaking lifted aside the layers of cotton and lace I had draped over him and peeked out at her. Her expression softened. “I’m sorry. That was most rude of me. If I am only paying for a berth in a double cabin, then I have to take my chances, don’t I? One must make the best of it, I suppose. And it’s really only to change clothing and sleep.”

“He’s normally a very good baby,” I said, hastily fastening my blouse buttons. “He sleeps through the night well.”

“I don’t doubt it. So it’s a little boy, is it? One can never tell.”

I looked down at his curls and white lace robes and smiled. “Impossible to tell. I don’t usually favor this amount of lace and ribbons but these garments were given to us. His name’s William but we call him Liam.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage just fine,” she said. “I’m Edith Pinkerton. Miss Edith Pinkerton. I’m traveling with a group of friends on a cultural tour of Europe. We are two widows and three spinsters—the other spinsters are retired schoolteachers, like myself. My bosom pal, Miss Hetherington, is a real aficionada of European art. She was formerly the art teacher at a ladies’ seminary in Boston where they educated girls from the finest families. So it was she who set up our itinerary. We’ll be visiting Venice, Florence, Rome, Munich, Vienna, and finishing up in Paris…”

“How lovely for you,” I said when she paused to take a breath. “I’m Mrs. Sullivan. Molly Sullivan.”

We shook hands formally. Then she looked around the narrow space. “The only question will now be who takes the top bunk. I consider myself quite agile for my advanced age, but…”

“I really don’t mind taking the top bunk,” I said, “but I may have to attend to my child if he cries and perhaps take him into bed with me.”

“Take him into bed with you? My dear, isn’t that most unhealthy? One should not give in to them or spoil them in that manner. And I’m surprised to find you nursing him yourself. I thought all modern mothers made use of the bottle. So much more hygienic.”

“It’s lucky I am nursing him,” I said. “I don’t know how one would heat up bottles at all hours on a ship like this.”

“Oh, Miss Hetherington says that the stewards and stewardesses on these ships are wonderful,” she said. “They will do anything for you, so I’ve heard. Of course last time she traveled on an English line. Whether the French will be as accommodating, we shall have to see, won’t we?”

There was a tap at the cabin door and a steward’s face came around it. “Your baggage has arrived, madame,” he said to Miss Pinkerton. Then he looked at the cabin with the cot on one wall and my trunk on the floor.
“Mon dieu,”
he said.

“Is there perhaps another cabin that might be available for Mademoiselle Pinkerton?” I asked. “It seems unfair that she should have to share with a small child who might disturb her sleep.”

He shrugged in that very Gallic way. “All is occupied, Madame. It seems that ze whole world wishes to spend springtime in Paris zis year.”

“We’ll manage,” Miss Pinkerton said. “Leave the trunk in the hall outside the door. I’ll go and find my friends and leave you to unpack, Mrs. Sullivan. Then your trunk can be taken away and I’ll have room to unpack my small valise. Miss Hetherington warned us to travel light, since we have to take so many trains and she said sometimes one is required to jump on or off when the train is in motion.”

She waved the steward away and shut the door behind her, leaving Liam and me alone in the cabin. I took out only the clothing Liam and I would need on the voyage, making sure she had half the closet space, then dragged the trunk outside, telling the steward he could put it into storage for me until we arrived. He put my mind at rest by assuring me that laundry would be taken care of during the voyage and a pail would be provided in the bathroom for dirty diapers. I had been worrying about how I would manage with a small child, but it really seemed as Miss Pinkerton had said, that the stewards would take care of everything. Feeling more content I went back to gather Liam from the cot and carried him up on deck. As I came out into the fresh air I got a shock. We were already underway. The tall buildings of New York were now behind us and there on our left we were drawing level with the Statue of Liberty, her green robes glowing in the late afternoon sunlight and her torch flashing.

“Look, darling,” I said, pointing at her as many other travelers were doing. “Look at the lady.” Liam grabbed at the railing, much more interested in the ocean below us. I held onto him tightly. “No, you are not going to get down,” I said firmly. And I laughed. I felt a little of the tension slipping away as the New York skyline receded in the distance. In spite of everything—the loss of my house, my possessions, my sweet little servant girl—I could smile again. I was going to Paris, to my dearest friends. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be all right.

Eight

We stayed up on deck until
La Lorraine
passed the last spit of land and I felt the swell of open ocean. America was now irrevocably behind me and France lay ahead. Liam had fallen asleep against my shoulder. I toured the portions of the ship reserved for second-class passengers, including a pleasant dining room with white-clothed tables and a piano lounge with comfortable armchairs, sofas, and potted palms. I inquired about food for my baby and was told that the kitchen would prepare pureed vegetables and custards with pleasure and that the steward would keep an eye on my child if I wanted to dine unencumbered. Thus relieved on that point I went down to my cabin to change for dinner.

Miss Pinkerton was there, finishing her own toilet by sticking a large number of hairpins into her bun. She spun around with a guilty expression on her face as I entered, making me think that she had probably been through my things. Good luck to her. There was nothing to discover.

“I was admiring your gowns, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. “Such a fine quality of fabric. You clearly have a good dressmaker, or are they made in France?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “These gowns were actually given to me by a friend who had grown tired of them. Her husband spoils her.”

“Most certainly,” she replied with a sniff. “I wondered where you were. I do hope you weren’t staying away out of sensibility toward me. I do want you to feel that this cabin is yours as much as mine.”

“I was up on deck, watching the ship sail past the Statue of Liberty,” I said, “and after that I did a tour of our part of the ship.”

“So did my friends and I,” she said. “All quite satisfactory, don’t you think? The lounge looks most inviting. I shall look forward to reading and writing at one of those small tables in the window. Or perhaps it will be warm enough to sit outside in a deck chair, at least until we sail into northern climes. I gather we sail quite far north up the American coast and there is always a danger of icebergs. Quite exciting, don’t you think? I have always wanted to see one.”

“From a distance, I hope,” I said and she laughed. “A good sense of humor. I like that, Mrs. Sullivan. Tell me, are you going to France or continuing your journey to another destination?”

“I’m going to stay with friends in Paris,” I said. “One of them is a painter and they have been in Paris for the past few months.”

“A painter. How exciting. Might one have heard of his work? Perhaps my friend Miss Hetherington is familiar with him.”

“This painter is a woman,” I said, “and her work is not yet well-known. She is hoping to learn from the great artists in Paris. In fact she has had an introduction to Reynold Bryce. Have you heard of him?”

“Reynold Bryce? Naturally I know of him.” She stuck a final hairpin into the bun and closed the closet door. “In fact I attended a reception at an art gallery in Boston once, when he still resided and painted in our country. I must say I far preferred his earlier work. This modern style with lots of daubs and blobs leaves me cold. But Miss Hetherington says we must be open-minded and find the beauty in every piece of art. She is a good Christian woman, Miss Hetherington, and quite a fine painter herself.”

I put the sleeping Liam into the crib and sat patiently on my bunk because there was not enough room for two of us to access the closet at the same time.

“Shall you be staying long in Paris?” Miss Pinkerton asked.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying,” I said.

“Your husband must be a most understanding and generous man to allow you to travel without him. Or is he to join you in Paris?”

“I’m afraid not. He has to work.”

“What is his profession?”

I decided that Miss Pinkerton was the type of nosy spinster who would spread any information around the whole ship. “He is employed by the city,” I said cautiously.

“In what kind of capacity?”

“Just a glorified clerk in city government,” I said.

“Hardly a mere clerk if he can afford to send his wife and child to Paris.” She gave me a knowing stare. “Not a cheap undertaking. I was horrified when I found out how much a transatlantic passage would cost. I recently inherited a little money from my mother, but it has to last me for the rest of my life. Still, I could not resist when Miss Hetherington invited me to travel with them on this cultural tour.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Who could turn down a chance to see the sights of Europe? Now might I be allowed to find something to wear for dinner?”

She tittered. “Oh, how silly of me. It is a trifle—snug—shall we say. And how fortunate that we are both slender. I shall go and see how my friends are faring and leave you to get ready. And of course you are welcome to join my friends and me at dinner, unless you have already sought out other dinner companions?”

“Thank you. You’re most kind,” I said, not being able to come up with a good way to refuse. And after all, I reasoned, any companions were better than none at all and she was trying hard to be accommodating when it must have been a shock to find herself sharing a cabin with Liam and myself.

Before I changed into my dinner gown I rang for the steward and asked if he could fetch the pureed vegetables promised for Liam. I wasn’t exactly sure what concoction was in the bowl the steward produced but it smelled and tasted quite edible and Liam smacked his little lips as he ate. Having fed him, nursed him, and then put him down for the night, I was finally able to change, powder my nose, put up my hair, and make my way to dinner. The helpful steward had promised he would listen for Liam’s cries and fetch me if necessary. But I have to confess I glanced back nervously as I made my way up the stairs. I was seated as promised at a table for six with Miss Pinkerton and her friends—all chatty older ladies who tried to make me feel welcome but plied me with constant questions. I had to fend off inquiries about in which branch of city government my husband worked and what exactly he did. When I gave a suitably vague response one of the widows warned me that a good wife should feign interest in her husband’s business affairs, even if she found the whole thing boring or beyond her.

They wanted to know where I lived in New York and I said, quite truthfully, that my last place of residence had been in the East Fifties. They were impressed by this and then peppered me with questions about people they knew, or knew of, in New York. My answers were so vague or so unexciting to them that they finally shifted the conversation to people they had spotted in first class and snippets of gossip they had overheard. The menu was a hearty beef stew followed by an apple tart. Not elegant but tasty, confirming that the French know how to cook. After dinner we lingered over coffee and I was relieved to find Liam still sleeping.

“I have decided that I shall take the top bunk after all,” Miss Pinkerton said as we made our way back to our cabin. “I have trained myself not to use the facilities during the night, so I should be just fine and you will be able to reach your little one, should the need arise.”

I thanked her profusely. We each went to the bathroom to change into nightclothes and then fell asleep. Liam was exemplary, sleeping until the steward woke us with a cup of coffee. We had a breakfast of rolls and jam, then I seated myself at one of the windows in the lounge and let Liam play with the wooden animals he had been given by Cuddles’s nanny. I had found a French magazine and attempted to read the articles, hoping to brush up my long-forgotten French. It was fascinating to see pictures of French fashions and Parisian society. A steward brought me more coffee and biscuits. I was beginning to think that I might be in for a pleasant time after all and felt a pang of guilt for poor Daniel, trying to complete his dangerous task while bunking down in someone else’s house without the support of his wife.

While I sat there a continuous procession passed by on the deck outside, taking their morning constitutional, enjoying the bright sea air. I let the low hum of French conversation wash over me as they passed, punctuated now and then by a voice raised in exclamation.
“Mon dieu? C’est vrai?”
Or even,
“Ooh la la!”

I smiled to myself and went back to my magazine. But when I finally heard an American voice saying, “You can’t stop me. I’m grown up and know my own mind!” I looked up. A young girl was striding out, as if annoyed, ahead of a sallow woman in an old-fashioned bonnet who had to break into a run to keep up with her.

“Eleanor,” she called. “That is no way to behave. You are too headstrong by half and it will lead to your downfall.”

Then they passed me and were gone. I continued to stare at their retreating backs, then turned to Miss Pinkerton, who was sitting in another window, writing a letter.

“Did you happen to see that American girl who just went past?” I asked.

She looked up. “I’m afraid I didn’t. I was concentrating on what I was writing. Was it someone you knew?”