After a while Ryan’s exaggerated cheerfulness began to wear thin on both of us and we were both relieved when Mrs. Goodwin arrived. There was no sign of tiredness on her unlined, plain face made even plainer by the severe bun she wore. Ryan took one look at the high-collared navy blue uniform she wore and beat a hasty retreat. He only liked to surround himself with objects of beauty and couldn’t abide plain women.

“Call upon me anytime, Molly dearest,” he said as he blew me a kiss.

Mrs. Goodwin looked after him with interest. “What an extraordinary man,” she said and I realized that normal people were startled by Ryan’s flamboyant attire—today he was wearing his Lord Byron lace shirt and velvet trousers.

“Ryan O’Hare, the Irish playwright,” I said. “An old friend who has been so kind to me and taken good care of us.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “The one who writes those controversial plays. Thrown out of England, wasn’t he?”

I laughed. “Yes, he was. But it’s so good of you to come here, especially after working all night.”

She smiled, the smile softening the severe face. “Actually I didn’t have too bad a time of it. I was in a hotel, waiting for a meeting of crooks that never happened. So I spent the night in a soft armchair with a drink at my side.” She came over to me. “But you, my poor dear girl. I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. Shocking. Unforgivable. You’d have thought that these Italians at least thought the family sacred. Well, you all survived. That’s the main thing.”

“My poor little servant girl wasn’t so lucky,” I said. “She died trying to save my boy.” And I heard my voice crack as I said it. “I feel so awful.”

“Nothing you could have done,” she said. “Our job is now to make sure you and your child are safely far away. Here you are.” She put a parcel on the bed. “I popped into Stewart’s department store on my way here and bought you necessities. I wasn’t quite sure of your size but I think they’ll do well enough for the moment.”

I opened the string around the package and found a plain white shirtwaist and dark blue cotton skirt as well as undergarments, petticoat, hose. They were almost as unattractive as the uniform Mrs. Goodwin was wearing, but I knew she meant well and they were certainly an improvement on the blackened, tattered remnants of my own clothing. And, mercy of mercies, she had added some strips of toweling, saying as I saw them, “I wasn’t quite sure how big your baby was, or even what babies wear, but I do know they get through a lot of diapers, so I thought these might keep you going.”