“The scent reminds me of the Caledonian hills.”
Somerset turned his head but he couldn’t see Marjorie MacTavish, who had uttered the last sentence, because she was hidden behind Isabel. It didn’t seem in character for Miss MacTavish, who seemed to him to be a most silent and withdrawn individual, to be voicing any kind of nostalgic sentiment, but her tone had sounded wistful. He was probably wrong.
“I love the smell of the woods,” he said, in order to be saying something.
He stood with his newfound lady friends—the designation included Eunice, who didn’t act all that much like a child—on the observation deck at the end of the train. No matter how much he loved the redwood forest and found the aroma refreshing and all that, Somerset wasn’t especially looking forward to seeing San Francisco heave into view, although he adored his adopted city. Slanting a glance to his right, he surreptitiously eyed Isabel Golightly’s profile. She was gazing out over the giant redwoods, bushy ferns and tall fir trees, and he acknowledged the reason for his own lack of enthusiasm for disembarking from the train.
His problem was that he didn’t want to lose touch with Isabel. Or Eunice, either, for that matter, although the little girl kind of spooked him. He’d never encountered so serious and intelligent a child. Not that he saw many kids on a regular basis. Still, his sister’s two boys seemed awfully normal compared to Eunice, always punching each other and playing baseball and catching mice and that sort of thing.
Somerset couldn’t imagine Eunice touching a baseball bat, much less hitting another child. As he thought about it, however, he recalled Isabel telling him about Eunice’s encounter with a snake in New York’s Central Park. Now that seemed normal for a child her age. Or it would have seemed normal, if Eunice had been a little boy, or if she hadn’t voiced her intention of looking up its biological name and studying it.
Face it, he told himself. The child is strange. Not in a bad way, but . . . Bother.
Eunice and Isabel were holding hands, and Loretta held Eunice’s other hand. Somerset felt left out, and he didn’t like it. “What are your plans now, Miss Linden?” he asked, hoping to discover Isabel’s plans, too, by stealthy means.
He didn’t have a clue why he felt shy about asking Isabel straight out, except that he wanted to so much, yet didn’t want to pry. From everything Somerset had gathered about the Golightlys, Isabel was a hardworking mother whose husband had died before Eunice was born, and Eunice had spent most of her young life searching out books from which she’d gleaned her amazing store of knowledge.
He tried to recall if he’d been reading books like Treasure Island and Moby Dick when he was six years old, and almost laughed. When he was six, his literary taste had run toward McGuffy’s Readers, if he remembered correctly.
The thing that really puzzled Somerset was that Isabel kept pulling away from him. He should have thought that a woman in her circumstances, which couldn’t be comfortable, would be doing her level best to snare him. After all, he was far from an ugly fellow, and he was well fixed in the world. It made no sense to him.
“Oh, I expect I shall go back to my old life.”
Peering at Loretta speculatively and noticing the devilish gleam in her eyes, Somerset decided she enjoyed her old life. “And what does that old life entail?”
“Work at the San Francisco Ladies’ Benevolent Society, campaigning for women’s suffrage, demonstrating for Temperance, agitating for unionization, particularly for those poor women who have to work in factories and sweatshops. All those things. I’m no shrinking violet, Mr. FitzRoy.” She said it proudly—and unnecessarily.
“No. I can tell you’re not.” Somerset liked her for it, too, although he imagined she’d be rather a handful to live with, providing a man ever dared to try it.
Loretta sighed happily. “I am particularly interested in the Chinatown clinic run by a friend of mine, and in the Ladies’ Benevolent Society’s soup kitchen near Chinatown. The misery of the people who take advantage of our services there cannot be overstated.”
“Really?” Somerset knew he ought to care more about the underprivileged members of San Francisco’s society, but he didn’t, other than to throw the odd coin at a beggar from time to time. He’d never let on about his lack of interest to Loretta, mainly because he didn’t want to hear a long lecture on the subject.
“Absolutely. Why, did you know that most of the men we serve in the soup kitchen have serious mental problems, Mr. FitzRoy?”
“Er, no, I didn’t know that.”
“It’s the truth. Most of them are merely confused, and very few of them are violent, but they all need help, not condemnation. Understanding and, perhaps, hospitalization, not incarceration.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” Somerset wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started pounding on the railing and orating to the pine trees they were passing.
“People don’t know what poverty does to people, Mr. FitzRoy, and they don’t know what kinds of conditions lead to poverty. It’s a crime.” This time she did pound on the railing.
“I see.” Somerset was taken aback. He hadn’t realized Loretta Linden was quite such a militant young woman, although she’d given him enough clues to have figured it out before now.
“I can tell them all about poverty, if they really want to know,” muttered Isabel.
That stopped Loretta’s rhetoric cold. She turned to Isabel. “I know, dear, and it’s a shame. But we’ll fix that.” She sounded as if she meant it. Somerset wished her well. He’d even help, if he were allowed.
Everyone was silent for a moment, until Eunice spoke to him, peering around Loretta’s skirt in order to do so. “What will you do in San Francisco, Mr. FitzRoy? Do you have a regular job?”
“Indeed, I do, Miss Eunice. I’ve been on an extended holiday in order to do research for my book, but I write a weekly horticultural column for the San Francisco Chronicle.” He also collected royalties on several books that were being used in various colleges throughout the nation, but he didn’t mention those.
“Oh, you’re a journalist!” Eunice seemed to find this discovery a delightful one. “I should like to be a journalist one day.”
He smiled at her. “I thought you wanted to be a biologist, Miss Eunice.”
“Well . . . yes.” Eunice frowned. “I have lots of different interests.”
“That’s the truth,” murmured Isabel, as if she were well acquainted with her daughter’s many and diverse interests, and found them rather wearying.
“I have a feeling you’ll be able to do anything you want to do, Miss Eunice,” Somerset said. “You have the equipment for it.” He tapped his head meaningfully.
The little girl’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you.”
“She certainly does,” Loretta agreed. “I aim to see the child educated, too.”
This comment caught Isabel’s full attention. She’d been staring beyond the observation carriage and into the forest as if her thoughts were miles away from where she stood. She turned toward Loretta, and it looked to Somerset as though she had to give herself a mental shake to bring her attention back to the present. “You’ve done too much for us already, Loretta. What I need to do is find a job of work to do so that I can support my daughter and myself.”
Aha. A subject he might be able to help with. Grasping at it with energy, Somerset said, “I should be pleased to assist you in your search, Mrs. Golightly. Ah, you’ve mentioned a little difficulty with understanding American employment ads.” He grinned to show her that he was teasing. “I should be more than happy to interpret for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. FitzRoy.” She didn’t return his grin. In fact, she seemed downhearted today. Somerset couldn’t blame her for that. She faced a daunting task, although it wasn’t as daunting in San Francisco as it might have been in England, or even New York City. The West had long been a haven for independent females. “I expect Loretta will be able to help me with the newspapers.” She managed a wan smile for Loretta�
��s sake.
Marjorie MacTavish, on Isabel’s right side, said, “Miss Linden has been a God-send for all of us.” Miss MacTavish seemed pale and drawn, as if she weren’t looking forward with anything even approaching optimism to her a life in a new city. Somerset had learned to expect as much from her. A gloomy individual, Miss Marjorie MacTavish. She could put a damper on dashed near any occasion without half trying.
“Indeed. We need to discuss employment possibilities for both of you when we’re settled in.” Loretta, on the other hand, was perfectly serene, even faintly bubbly. Well, why shouldn’t she be? It hadn’t taken Somerset long to determine that it was she who had the money in this odd-assorted quartet of feminine pulchritude.
“Will you all stay together in San Francisco?” Was that too bold a question to ask? Somerset silently told himself not to be an ass. If he wanted to keep in touch with Isabel, he had to ask where she’d be staying.
“The four of us are going to my home, yes,” Loretta answered, speaking for all of them. Which was natural, since she had the money. And the house, apparently. Not to mention determination enough for the entire quartet. “I’m hoping to persuade Isabel and Marjorie to remain there.”
As unpaid labor?
Somerset told himself not to be cynical. He didn’t think Loretta Linden was any sort of tyrant. She was undoubtedly only being helpful.
“After we settle in, we’ll have to sort ourselves out, of course, but I don’t believe that will be too difficult. I know several people who will be able to help in finding work for Mrs. Golightly. Miss MacTavish is considering the possibility of becoming my secretary.”
“Ah, it’s fortunate that you have such a position available.”
“It’s fortunate for me,” Marjorie muttered. She looked scared to death, poor thing, attempting a smile that quavered pathetically. “I’m glad I took a typewriting class the last time I stopped in Edinburgh.”
“On the contrary, it’s fortunate for me,” Loretta said bracingly. “I shall try not to be a hard taskmaster.”
The three women laughed, Loretta heartily, the other two in a perfunctory manner that confirmed Somerset’s impression that they were more worried about their new lives than they wanted to admit. As for Eunice, she was as composed as ever. The kid was amazing.
But that didn’t solve his problem. With greater daring than he usually demonstrated around women, he said, “Whereabouts is your home, Miss Linden?”
“On Lombard Street.”
“Ah, the Russian Hill District.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a lovely neighborhood.”
“It serves the purpose.” Loretta smiled. “Thank God for inherited wealth, Mr. FitzRoy.” She gave a peal of laughter that sounded to Somerset as if she were struggling not to apologize for being rich. He didn’t think she had anything to apologize for. If every wealthy person in the world used his or her money to do such good works as Loretta Linden, the world would be a better place. He wouldn’t embarrass her by telling her so.
“It must be nice,” he said instead, grinning to let her know that he knew she was a peach, even if she didn’t want anyone saying so aloud. “May I attend you ladies to your home? You’ll probably need help dealing with all your luggage and so forth.”
“We don’t have much luggage,” Isabel said, dashing his hopes. “It was all lost when the ship sank.”
“Pooh, Isabel!” Loretta shot her a look that told her to keep her depressing opinions to herself and turned back to Somerset. “Your help would be very much appreciated, Mr. FitzRoy. Thank you for offering.”
Well, thought Somerset, it was nice to know someone valued him. Eunice let go of her mother’s hand and circled around Loretta’s skirt to gaze up at him with her huge, somber eyes. She made a pretty little curtsy and said, “Thank you for helping me with my drawings, Mr. FitzRoy.”
“You draw beautifully, Miss Eunice,” he said honestly. “You have genuine talent, and it was a joy to help you.”
“Thank you. You were a very good teacher. I think my mother needed someone to help divest me.
Somerset stared at her. “Um . . . I beg your pardon?
Isabel chuckled. “I believe you mean that he helped to divert you, sweetie.”
“Divert,” said Eunice, filing the word away in her mental dictionary. “Yes, that’s what I meant. Thank you, Mr. FitzRoy.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Eunice. It was my pleasure.”
Isabel turned to Somerset. “Yes, thank you very much for diverting Eunice, Mr. FitzRoy.” She held out her hand to him. “It was good of you to keep the monster child out of my hair during the trip. And for saving her in the first place so that she could still be alive to annoy us all.”
Eunice grinned up at her mother.
Perceiving that it was either go along with the joke or make a fool of himself, Somerset took Isabel’s hand and bowed over it in feigned seriousness. “It was nothing, ladies. In fact, it was my great pleasure to play the knight in shining armor. And it will be my continued pleasure to serve you until you’re settled in Miss Linden’s house.”
“Thank you, sir knight.” Loretta laughed and clapped Somerset on the back as if they were all old cronies.
# # #
San Francisco was a much bigger city than Upper Poppleton. It was bigger than York or Southampton, as well. But what Isabel found more disturbing than its size was that San Francisco was so different from anyplace else she’d ever been. Not that she’d seen much of the world, other than the huge, black ocean that had swallowed up most of the passengers aboard Titanic. A shudder caught her by surprise, and she told herself to stop brooding about the tragedy. She had to forge onward and forget the past.
As if she could ever do that.
Nevertheless, she did her best to suppress unhappy memories and hold tight to Eunice’s hand as the two stepped from Loretta’s private railroad carriage onto the platform at the train station. Lord in heaven, what was she going to do? Isabel’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed in a giant’s fist. Could someone die from fear? She’d heard the expression “frightened to death,” but had always supposed it applied to people higher on the social ladder than herself. People in her station in life weren’t supposed to possess feelings, much less succumb to them. Unfortunately, she had feelings anyway. And she was scared.
“Look, Mama,” Eunice whispered.
Isabel knew where her daughter’s attention had stuck, because she’d just spied the same scene: a group of Chinese people in blue coats and trousers and black skull caps and with long pigtails hanging down their backs, greeting each other farther down the platform. “Yes, dearie. I see.”
“And look over there, too,” Eunice persisted, gazing in another direction.
When Isabel looked, she saw a group of dark-skinned people, also greeting each other. She had no idea where they were from. Africa? India? Arabia? South Carolina? Lord on high, this was such a new land to her. She knew that people from many countries and of many races mingled in London, but she was from Upper Poppleton, where everyone looked like her.
“This is going to be quite an adventure, Eunice,” she murmured.
“Yes. It surely will be.” Eunice sounded excited.
Isabel didn’t think her own heart’s thunderous pounding had much to do with excitement. She was just damned bloody scared. Dashed blooming scared, was what she meant.
“Mrs. Golightly.”
She turned and found that Somerset had spoken to her. “Yes? I’m sorry, Mr. FitzRoy. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” She felt stupid for having become so engrossed in her surroundings that she’d forgotten about the people who were trying so hard to help her.
He had such a charming smile. Isabel liked his smile a lot; in an odd and totally irrational way it gave her comfort. Or perhaps it wasn’t irrational. He had, after all, saved her life and that of her daughter. That was a comforting thought all by itself. Small wonder she should have put him on a pedestal of honor in her mental m
emorial hall.
“Think nothing of it,” he said, still smiling. “But we need to stay together in a group. It won’t do to become separated.”
“Right.” She and Eunice left off staring at the new and fascinating rainbow of people surrounding them and went over to where he had indicated the luggage lay. Marjorie and Loretta, each of whom carried a small parcel, hurried up to them.
“We’re here!” Loretta announced in a joy-filled voice. “It’s so good to be home.”
Isabel had been happy to leave her homeland, but right this minute, she was sure she’d feel more comfortable back in Upper Poppleton. While she hadn’t been particularly happy there, she had at least fit in, although she’d always wanted more. Much, much more—for Eunice, if not for herself. But none of that mattered now. She’d made her decision, and she’d made her move. She and Eunice would survive. No. They would flourish here, damn it. Dash it.
Somerset took the parcels and set them down on top of Loretta’s one suitcase. Neither Isabel nor Eunice had ever possessed a suitcase. In Upper Poppleton, Isabel had wrapped their possessions in a canvas sack for their trip to the United States.
Now their few belongings were rolled up into one of the two parcels recently carried by Marjorie and Loretta. Loretta had decreed that Isabel had enough to do keeping track of Eunice, although the reverse was probably true. Isabel feared that Eunice was better equipped to keep tabs on her mother and to deal with their new surroundings than the other way around.
Isabel had no idea why she’d been blessed—cursed?—with such a brilliant child. It was just one of those quirks of nature, she supposed. Or a joke God had decided to play on her. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with. How was she ever supposed to offer Eunice the educational opportunities she deserved? Maybe with Loretta’s help . . .
Oh, Lord, she couldn’t be worrying about that now.
“Where is your baggage, Mr. FitzRoy?” she asked, surveying the small pile of possessions at his feet.
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