Free City of Darkness and Light by Rhys Bowen Page A

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