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.

Chapter 8

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?”