Masquerade (39 page)

“Come in.”

It was Conrad, carrying a tray. “I heard you weren’t feeling well. I had Mrs. Dyson prepare a tray for you.”

Guilt washed over her. To think she’d spent the afternoon dreaming of Dr. Greenfield, when all the while there was a man in this very house who cared for her—who deserved to be cared for
by
her.

“You are too kind, Mr. Tremaine. Thank you.”

“Conrad. Please.”

“Conrad.”

He looked about the room for a place to set it, but paused for a moment, his eyes upon the dressing table. “You kept my flower from the park.”

Yes indeed. She’d had Mary find a small vase, and there it had 272 remained since that outing.

Charlotte left the bed and pointed to a table near a grouping of two chairs. “There, I think,” she said.

“Should you be out of bed?”

“I … it’s good for me to move about a little.” She moved a bird figurine so there was room for the tray. He adjusted the table to her reach from a nearby chair.

“This looks marvelous,” she said, perusing the tea, soup, bread, and slices of ham and cheese.

“Mother wouldn’t say exactly what was wrong, so …” He blushed. “So I told the cook to make it soothing.”

“You are very kind.” Too kind.

He stood by, a bit awkward.

“Do sit, Conrad. Give me some company while I eat.”

He seemed relieved to do so. “I was told the dressmaker was here today. Do you like your gown?”

His face was so hopeful, she couldn’t tell him the complete truth. “I liked the gowns you bought me at Tremaine’s better.”

“Then, wear one of—” He stopped himself. “Thank you for the compliment, but I think it will be best if you wear the one Mother had made for you.”

His acquiescence made her sad, and yet he was right. “I agree.”

His sigh secured the decision.

Another knock on the door and Mary entered, carrying a note on a silver tray. “This just came for you, miss.”

The envelope was addressed to Miss Gleason. “May I?” she asked Conrad.

“Please.”

She opened it, saw it was from Dr. Greenfield, and hungrily read his words:
I’ll visit tomorrow morning. Hope you’re feeling better. E.G.

“Good news?” Conrad asked.

Her face must have revealed as much. “Dr. Greenfield will return to check on me tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good of him. But Greenfield? What happened to Dr. Carlton?”

“I believe they are cousins and partners. Dr. Greenfield recently arrived from England.”

“Ah. So.” He pressed his hands to his thighs and stood. “I best not tax your strength. I do hope you are well by morning and have no need of the good doctor.”

No need. Much need.

It was getting complicated.

Because of the baby they took no more photographs that day. Fitz demanded Lottie’s attention, and Sven even paid for some condensed milk, a feeding bottle, and some rags for diapers before walking her back to the Scarpellis’.

I still have my dollar… .

“I’m so sorry for cutting the day short,” she said. “You don’t have to walk me back. I could find my—” Fitz began to fuss. “Shh, say there. It’s all right.”

But Fitz wouldn’t be appeased.

Sven stopped walking and set his equipment down. “Let me take him.”

“It’s all right. I can handle—”

He held his arms out. “Please.”

She handed Fitz over. Instead of cradling him as Lottie had done all day, Sven set the boy upright against his shoulder. Fitz immediately stopped fussing. “See? He just wants a chance to see what’s going on.”

Fitz’s bright eyes peeking over Sven’s shoulder proved him right.

“You’re very good with children,” Lottie said.

“So I’ve been told. I’ve learned by experience.”

Just the way he said it implied … much.

Sven was married. Why had he never said anything before now?

She should have known something was amiss when he didn’t respond to her flirting. Lottie felt herself strangely disappointed. Not that she’d ever be interested in such a man, but—

“Here,” Sven said. “You can have him back now. You need to get him home. The day’s turning nippy.”

Yes, cold. Very very cold.

What would the Scarpellis say about Fitz?

As they neared Mulberry Street, the question plagued Lottie’s thoughts. Yet every time she looked at his lovely face, she knew she’d done the right thing.

At the door to her tenement, Sven pressed forty cents into her hand.

“No, I can’t accept this. You’ve already paid for—”

“It’s your pay, Miss Hathaway. Four photos, forty cents.” He placed a gentle hand on Fitz’s head. “You’re a good assistant—or were so before this one grabbed your eye. I’m sad to see you go.”

“Go? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll work with you tomorrow and the next day—if you’ll have me.”

“What about Fitz?”

She’d thought it through. “Hopefully Lea and Francesca will take care of him. I’ll pay them something for the service. And Sofia will help. Little girls love playing with babies. The arrangement has to work so
I
can work.”

He looked skeptical. “If it comes together as you hope, meet me at the corner at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

Lottie received many curious looks as she ascended the stairs of the tenement. Those who knew her as the British friend of the Scarpellis wondered about the sudden appearance of a baby.

“Bambino?”

Although she wasn’t certain they’d understand, she said, “His name is Fitzwilliam and he’s mine now.”

He’s mine now?
As the last flight of stairs drained her remaining energy, the question remained.

Oddly, the door to the Scarpellis’ apartment was open, and the front room was filled with women. Lottie entered, looking for Lea.

A woman recognized her, glanced at the baby, then gestured toward the bedroom. “
Sofia è malata.
Sick.”

Sofia?

She entered the bedroom and saw Lea and Francesca kneeling on the floor beside Sofia’s bed. Lea had a cloth to Sofia’s forehead. The little girl lay deathly still.

“Lea?”

Lea looked up, then rose from her knees, handing the cloth to Francesca. “Sofia sick.
Febbre.
”

Fever? Sofia’s face was flushed. “But she was all right this …” Lottie thought back to the morning and remembered seeing Sofia in her mother’s arms. “Have you called a doctor?”

Lea looked at Francesca and repeated the word in Italian.
“Medico.”
They shared a sarcastic laugh. “No doctor come here.”

Only then did Lea’s eyes light upon Fitz.
“Bambino?”

“Baby. Yes. I found him abandoned in the gutter. I couldn’t leave him there.”

“
Fuori! Vattene! Via con quel bambino!
Out! No baby!”

Lea was right. Fitz couldn’t be around Sofia. But where could they go?

Lea frantically spoke to the other ladies. All eyes turned on Lottie and Fitz, then back to Lea. When she finished speaking, there was a pause. Then, reluctantly, one woman raised her hand.

“
Grazie,
Maria.” She turned to Lottie. “You go with
Signora
Rossi. She take you till Sofia well.”

Mrs. Rossi motioned for Lottie to follow. What choice did she have?

The Rossis lived on the third floor of the same building in an apartment smaller than the Scarpellis’. Although at the moment it was only occupied by a very elderly grandmother, a young woman holding her own baby, and Mrs. Rossi, Lottie had no idea how many would join them once evening fell.

Mrs. Rossi made introductions, and Lottie heard her name among the string of Italian words. The grandmother shrugged, then returned to her nap. The young mother gave Fitz a cursory glance before giving her attention to her own baby. Neither woman showed any real interest in him. And why should they? Babies were plentiful in the tenements and grew up—if they grew up—to be children who demanded more care, more food, and more space.

Unless they got sick and died.

Sofia. Lottie longed to be upstairs with her. But with Fitz in her arms, and with none of the Rossis showing any willingness to take care of him, she couldn’t risk it. Instead she sat on a chair in the corner and rocked him—as she rocked herself.

Amidst her need for comfort she found herself praying:
What should I do?
alternated with
Make Sofia well.

She believed God was listening.

But how would He answer?

Chapter Fifteen

A baby cried.

Lottie ordered the sound out of her dreams.
Shh. I’m trying to sleep.

The cry persisted.

A male voice barked,
“Silenzio!”

Another said,
“Fache il bambino smetta di piangere!”

She opened her eyes—and, with the help of the moonlight, remembered where she was. She’d fallen asleep in a chair in the Rossis’ apartment, her head resting against a wall.

Fitz lay sprawled upon her lap, fallen from the comfort of her arms. Crying. Real. Her responsibility.

She picked him up. “Shhh, sweet baby. Shhh.”

A woman’s form filled the doorway leading to the bedroom. “Here,” said Carmela, the Rossi daughter.
“Dammi il bambino.”

Lottie brought her the child—as she’d done two other times during the long night. Carmela sat in a chair near the stove, and Lottie soon heard the sound of Fitz suckling. Carmela had been a godsend, nursing her own baby as well as Fitz, letting Lottie save the canned milk for later.

Yet this stranger’s care emphasized Lottie’s helplessness. She returned to her chair, leaned her head against the wall, and closed her eyes. If only she could transport herself back to her lovely bedroom in Wiltshire, where she was surrounded by pillows and soft linens, where the only sound to interrupt her sleep was that of the housemaid stoking the embers of the fireplace into a flame so Lottie would awaken to a warm room.

How nice it would be to wake up and request some hot chocolate and scones for breakfast. With orange marmalade.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been many hours since she’d eaten—and then, she’d eaten little, not wanting to impose upon the Rossis’ hospitality by eating her fill during last evening’s meal.

Lottie wrapped a borrowed shawl more closely around her shoulders.

Hungry, cold, and exhausted. Was this what the future held?

How long had she been in this country? She tried to remember the days, but found them a blur of one crisis heaped upon another. The snippets of light amid the darkness had faces: Lea, Sofia, Lucia, Sven …

And Fitz. Fitzwilliam, her baby.

Her
baby?

What was I thinking?

She’d been virtually helpless seeing to his needs for one night, much less the rest of his life. Common sense was demanding and nonnegotiable.

Yet Fitz knew her now. When he was fed and dry he lay upon her lap, kicked his feet, cooed, and smiled. He seemed quite willing to accept her as his mother.

And she?

She too was willing and longed to keep him as her own with an intensity that frightened her. She, who’d never been around children, now found her heart softened by this baby, and by a little girl who lay sick in an apartment upstairs.