Maddie was content to wait outside, under the domed roof of the huge station. It was a lovely day to begin a journey, although she scarcely noticed the beams of light streaming onto the platform from the glass roof. She could feel her weariness, now that she had a moment to stand still
and let it catch up to her. She had deliberately exhausted herself each day so that when she fell into bed at night she
could sleep dreamlessly until she awoke, too early, the next morning to begin again.
At least she had not thought again about Devin Grant and that last picture she had of him, looking at her that way in the light of a street lamp, his eyes so close to hers that she imagined she saw her own reflected in them. He had sent a note to the Savoy the next morning to thank her politely for her invitation to dinner and to remind her that he had planned to travel to Paris too, and in fact would be gone by the time she read his note.
He hadn’t wasted any time. At least, away from his disturbing presence, it was easier to be confident of her goal. Maddie could only hope that her self-assurance would be strong enough by the time she got to Paris to prevent his weakening it again.
A middle-aged couple passed her on the platform, and Maddie felt the man send her a sidelong glance, then nudge his wife in the ribs, at which she turned to stare too, although less subtly. Maddie was becoming accustomed to these attentions, having had to leave her hotel room on one or two occasions since the publication of her likeness in the national press—she had even seen it in the shops in the Savoy—but she was not sorry to be leaving the stares behind and hoped they would not follow her across the channel. Since she had also offered, on an impulse, to take the author of her newfound fame with her, she could not, of course, be absolutely certain that
tout Paris
would not soon begin to recognize her face as well. Laurence Fox’s claim to make faces famous had turned out to be no idle promise.
Fortunately, not every Islington Lizzie and Bertie from Bow was allowed on the first-class platform, so that Maddie was spared any really unpleasant encounters, although the formidable lady approaching her now might be awkward to dismiss. It was only when this large, almost perfectly square creature in brown taffeta stopped in front of her that Maddie noticed she was accompanied by a young girl—presumably, from the unfortunate shape of the girl’s nose, the gorgon’s daughter—who almost literally hid behind her parent’s skirts.
“Come along, Elfreda, and say your piece to the lady,” said the stout matron unexpectedly, hauling the girl by the arm out in front of her. Elfreda, who despite her childish ringlets must have been seventeen or eighteen, bobbed a curtsey to Maddie.
“I do beg your pardon, ma’am,” she said in a voice that fortunately carried none of her parent’s stridency, “but you are the lady whose photograph appeared in the
Illustrated London News,
are you not?”
“I’m sorry to say, I am.” Maddie had to smile at the worshipful look on the girl’s face. “I am Mrs. Malcolm. Are you also traveling on this train?”
She held out her hand to shake Elfreda’s, rendering that young woman speechless, so that it was left to her mother to announce that she was Lady Jervis and she was pleased to introduce her daughter, Miss Elfreda Jervis.
“Elfreda has something to ask you,” she proclaimed then, and leaving Elfreda to accomplish this, her ladyship went off to supervise the loading of her trunks into a compartment several doors down—Maddie was relieved to see—from her own.
Miss Elfreda, having detached her hand from Maddie’s, found her voice again and asked in an urgent whisper, “Oh, please, Mrs. Malcolm, can you tell me who made the photograph in the
News
?”
Now this was something new. People had asked Maddie any number of odd and rudely personal questions, but no one had yet come up with this one, and Maddie was for once happy to satisfy a stranger’s curiosity.
“It was a very talented young man named Laurence F
OX
,” she said.
Elfreda clapped her gloved hands together and laughed. She had a delightful little laugh that almost made up for her nose and the dreadful olive green traveling outfit her mother must have ordered for her out of some department store catalogue.
“Oh, I knew it must be! I see Mr. Fox’s photographs everywhere and never fail to recognize the style. Laurie— that is, Mr. Fox—once came to our home, you see, to photograph my father. He is a knight, not a baronet, and when he was given the honor he thought it would be a good thing to have his portrait taken, but since he is too busy to sit for a painter.... Well, anyway, that is how I know Mr. Fox, although of course—that is, I regret—we have not met since.”
An unmistakable blush spread over Elfreda’s already rosy cheeks, and Maddie took genuine delight in telling her that Mr. Fox was traveling with her party. For a moment, she was afraid that Elfreda would fall to the middle of the platform in a dead faint, but it seemed she was only holding her breath in wonder.
“Why don’t you come visit us when we’re underway, and renew your friendship with Mr. Fox,” Maddie suggested when Elfreda’s speechlessness became prolonged. Miss Jervis then released her breath all in a rushed sigh.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Malcolm! I will do so ... or rather, Mama and I will, if that is all right.”
“Of course, Miss Jervis.”
Elfreda excused herself then in response to a summons from her mama, who apparently considered her to have been independent long enough. Maddie was left in entertaining speculation. Plainly, the girl had a crush on the lamblike Mr. Fox. Was he aware of it? She was a sweet thing—no beauty, but her features were delicate and her complexion that perfect English peaches-and-cream kind. She was a little on the plump side, as well, but that would be less obvious in another style of dress. Maddie began to look forward to an unexpected source of entertainment on her journey.
Her new line of speculation made Maddie suddenly aware, as she entered her compartment and saw Mr. Fox assisting Oliver Drummond in stowing her hand luggage, that he might be getting far too attached to
her
for other than professional reasons. His eager greeting, as if he had not spoken to her by telephone just that morning, even made her wonder if she had been wise after all to have invited him to go to Paris with her. Miss Jervis, she decided, had arrived on the scene in the nick of time.
“Mr. Fox, please don’t bother with that,” she said, smiling but removing a hatbox from his hands and passing it to Oliver, who placed it in the overhead rack. “Mr. Drummond may suspect you want his job.”
Laurence glanced at Oliver, whose bland expression did not change, as if there might be some truth in this, and, when Maddie chose a seat by the window, he sat down opposite her, abandoning his attempts to be useful.
“I think I am learning to recognize when you are teasing me, Mrs. Malcolm,” he said, with his disarming smile, “but as yet I am at a loss to know why.”
Maddie put out her hand to pat his in what she hoped was a big-sisterly gesture. “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Fox, but you must not think that because you have, so to speak, been responsible for my presentation to British society, you must concern yourself with my welfare for ever after. I invited you along because I enjoy your company, not because I am in need of a cavalier.”
“I am justly rebuked, ma’am,” he replied. “I will henceforth concentrate solely on keeping you amused rather than attempting to shelter you from the world. On one condition, that is.”
“And what is that?”
“That you call me Laurie, as my other friends do.”
Maddie smiled and turned his hand over to shake it. “Agreed!”
Just as she sat back again, the train gave a little lurch, and her excitement at beginning a new journey, which she had not yet learned to disguise no matter how worldly a pose she adopted, bubbled up, and she clutched the window sill. “Oh, look, we are moving!”
It was only minutes before the crack train had left the brick facades and paved streets of the capital and was gliding smoothly through the countryside toward the channel coast. Laurie pointed out landmarks and explained that those flimsy wooden structures in that field supported hop plants, and that those oddly cone-shaped roofs in that village were traditional in this part of Kent.
Louise came into the compartment with a light lunch just as Lady Jervis and her daughter—who had taken the time, Maddie observed, to change into a slightly more becoming dress— knocked on the compartment door.
“Come in, please,” Maddie said, as Laurie jumped up to open the door. In the limited space, Elfreda had to pass close to Laurie to seat herself, and she glanced up shyly at him—just slightly, becomingly, flirtatious, Maddie noted approvingly.
Lady Jervis shook Laurie’s hand heartily, condescended to remember him, and assured him that his photograph of her husband held pride of place on their fireplace mantel, right under the framed print of Winterhalter’s portrait of the queen. Laurie looked grateful just the same.
“You are in time to join us for lunch,” Maddie said. “That is a lovely frock, by the way, Miss Jervis.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am. I’m afraid Mama thinks it a bit—that is, too gay for me, but I saw it in a shop when she was not along and bought it on impulse.”
Elfreda glanced at her mother, who pretended not to hear, so absorbed was she in helping Louise to lay out the lunch paraphernalia.
Good for you, little Elfreda, Maddie thought. There is hope yet.
She introduced Laurie as if they had not met before and was gratified to hear him say he remembered her, and how was her father? This led to a promising, if hesitant, conversation between the two young people, and Maddie considered her newly hatched little scheme off to a good start.
Within two hours, they had reached Folkestone and boarded the cross-channel steamer for a smooth crossing, which was just as well, for Elfreda confessed privately to Maddie that she was a very poor sailor. Maddie advised her in that case to spend the time with her mother, so that if she became indisposed, Laurie would not know about it and Elfreda would have done her duty to keep her mother company and might therefore be able to escape to be with them guiltlessly at another time.
Laurie, unfortunately, forgot all about her much too quickly when he set up his camera to take more photographs of Maddie on deck; then, when she declared that enough was enough, he went off cheerfully to subject some of the crew to his lens.
Maddie, left alone at last, leaned on the railing and let the sunlit waves mesmerize her, but the image of Teddy at perhaps this very railing kept intruding between her eyes and the sunny sea. But no, she remembered then; he would not have been traveling first class. It struck her that it must have hurt Teddy’s pride terribly to be so dependent on her for money, even for those little comforts she took for granted. It was his pride, after all, that had prevented him from telling her, until after their marriage, that his father had finally made good his threat to cut Teddy off without a penny.
Hot water in hotel rooms, cushioned seats in railway compartments, hansom cabs, and champagne were not so easily come by for most people in the world. She ought to have known that only too well. If she were truly an American Beauty Rose, she was a hothouse creation, pampered from birth, with someone else always there to draw her bath, prepare her meals, clean, starch, and press her clothes. It was strange that none of the women at the residency had resented her for her privileges; instead they had looked up to her and spoken to her with respect, even reverence. Maddie smiled, wondering what Peter Kropotkin would make of that.
Teddy had never complained, either. But he had never, now that she reflected on it, seemed to care how much he took from her, nor balked at asking for more. Well, why should he? What she had was his, and she had more than enough for both of them. She could scarcely expect him to be ashamed of that, much less to pretend that he was. The first thing that had attracted her to him, after all, had been his blithe refusal to be intimidated by money.
Nevertheless, she could not dismiss the idea that Teddy might have left her deliberately to escape his sense of obligation to her and the relentless hammering away at his pride that came from having no means to support himself independently. Perhaps that was why he gambled, to try to make a fortune of his own with one turn of the cards.
Perhaps that was what Devin Grant had meant by her feeling
responsible for Teddy’s disappearance. He had recognized her guilt before she did.
#
In Boulogne they were transferred to one of the elegant blue-and-gold Wagons-Lits carriages of the Continental sections of the rail line, just in time for afternoon tea. But this they were destined never to enjoy, for as they were leaning out
of the coach window at Boulogne to watch the multilingual crowd milling about in the station, the Wingates suddenly materialized.
“My
dear, I
knew
you would be on the train, and I told Geoffrey so—didn’t I, my love?” “So you did, Florence.”
“And
here we are!” Florence gushed, hugging Maddie as if
she had not seen her for years, but interrupting herself
to
say, “No, that case doesn’t go in here.... Geoffrey, be a dear and show all these people where our compartment is
.”
“All these people” were a trio of station porters struggling with Florence’s endless train of luggage, which Geoffrey, on the way to do his wife’s bidding, compared favorably to Napoleon’s at the start of his Russian campaign. As soon as it had gone on its way down the corridor, Florence closed the door on it and sat down to talk. When Maddie introduced her to Elfreda, Florence smiled graciously, then paid no further attention to her, devoting herself instead to Laurence Fox.
“What a charmin’ coincidence to see you here, too, Mr. Fox! Am I being too bold to ask if you have brought my photographs with you?”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wingate, but I had no idea you would be on this train—or that I would either, for that matter—so I sent them by express to Paris. They will be at your hotel when you arrive.”