Free City of Darkness and Light by Rhys Bowen Page B

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,