Masquerade (23 page)

Each course was ceremoniously accomplished and eaten while the Tremaines spoke
around
each other. Mr. Tremaine seemed content to let his wife initiate what little talk occurred, and Conrad was quick to nod in complete agreement with whatever his mother had to say. Only Beatrice offered any amusement, yet as most everything she said seemed to grate upon her family, Charlotte couldn’t risk showing too much pleasure in it. Besides, Beatrice had shown herself untrustworthy. She was a woman to be watched. Carefully.

Mostly, Charlotte was relieved that the questions asked about herself were easily answered. Perhaps the Tremaines’ reticence would be a blessing. Perhaps their general disinterest in deep discussion would prevent a verbal mishap on her part.

As one course faded into the next—some which looked appetizing enough but which Charlotte had no appetite to eat—she found her eyelids drooping, and the sound of Mrs. Tremaine’s voice began to hum… .

“Miss Gleason!”

Her head jerked erect. Had she dozed?

“Is our company so tiresome?”

Conrad extended a hand upon the table toward his mother. “It’s her journey that’s been tiresome, Mother. Miss Gleason has had an exhausting day.”

Charlotte was overjoyed at his defense—because the reason for her weariness was genuine, and because it was the first time she’d witnessed him showing some gumption. “I apologize,” she said. “I do assure you my fatigue is not due to either the delicious meal or the fine company. My eyelids have simply mutinied and demanded their way.”

Beatrice laughed softly, and Charlotte saw that even Mr. Tremaine smiled.

It was her way out and away, so she scooted her chair back and stood. “If you will please excuse this weary traveler, I promise to be bright-eyed tomorrow.”

The men rose, and Charlotte assured them she could see herself to her room. She was relieved when no one followed. Each step upon the staircase was accomplished with effort. She leaned on the railing, hoping she wouldn’t fall asleep right then and there.

Mary must have been alerted, because she came running down the hallway and helped Charlotte negotiate the final steps to her bedroom.

“My, my,” Mary said, closing the door behind them. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

“Bed, Mary. Please.”

Charlotte stood in the middle of the room and let Mary release her from her fashion bondage. Free of the heavy drapery and finally the corset, she took several deep breaths before raising her arms like a child being readied for bed. She felt a soft nightdress being pulled into place, and with Mary’s hand at her elbow, she negotiated the few steps to the bed.

The pillows swelled around her heavy head, and the covers Mary placed over her shoulders reminded her of the days when her mother had tucked her in.

Sleep rushed to meet her.

At the Scarpellis’ the sleeping arrangements took Lottie by surprise. When she’d first entered their apartment she had assumed there were multiple bedrooms beyond. But no. There was only one very small bedroom. Windowless. Inside were a set of makeshift beds built upon stilts, creating one bed above the other. The upper bed was no more than a sling of fabric tied to posts. Using those beds … two could sleep top and bottom. But what about the rest of them?

Lucia tapped her on the arm, then pointed to her midsection.
“Togli il corsetto.”

Her corset? Lottie looked down at herself, then at Lucia. As she’d noted before, the girl was wearing a loosely fitting blouse. Yes indeed, it would be nearly impossible to sleep wearing her corset. And her travel suit was made of fabric too stiff to bend and bow. She longed for her nightgown.

But as Lottie glanced around the room, she saw that no one was donning a nightshirt or gown. They were removing their shoes, their suspenders, and their coats, and that seemed to be that. All were unencumbering themselves of their daytime clothing as best they could while maintaining some semblance of modesty in this communal space.

Lucia retrieved another blouse and skirt from a small dresser. “
Mettiti queste
.”

The clothes looked clean enough, though the blouse was much faded from its original green. But this wasn’t about fashion; it was about comfort. And sleep. Lottie longed for sleep more than she’d ever longed for anything.

She took the clothes from Lucia.
“Grazie.”
She
did
like the way her tongue rolled the
r
. It was fun to say the word.

Lucia smiled.
“Prego.”

Lottie looked around the room at the people getting settled in for the night—Aldo and Dante were placing a thin mattress on the floor… .

“Where can I change?”

Lucia understood, for she grabbed a blanket, nudged Lottie into a corner, and held the blanket as a makeshift wall. It would have to do.

With difficulty Lottie unbuttoned her skirt, and once that was accomplished, she reveled as its weight fell to the floor. She stepped free of it, untied the bustle padding from her waist, and tossed it on top of the fallen skirt. The serge bodice was next to be sacrificed. The cool air against her skin was a relief. She unhooked the front of her corset from bust to hips, and with its first give of one inch, then another, let herself breathe fully. She always felt relief at the end of a day’s fashion burden, but today above all others the release was especially sweet.

Lottie pulled Lucia’s skirt over her petticoat, put the blouse over her camisole, and tucked it into the skirt. The light fabric was heavenly, almost like not wearing outer-clothes at all. Next, her shoes. She sat on a box against the wall and unlaced her boots. Her feet responded in a similar manner as her torso. The release, the freedom …

“All done,” she said.

Lucia lowered the blanket enough to peek over it. “Good.” She folded the blanket and placed it on the floor. “Bed.” She handed Lottie another blanket and a small sack of rags to use for a pillow.

Lottie had never slept on a floor, but what choice did she have? Vittorio climbed into the upper sling, and Lucia and Sofia shared the bottom bed, which was barely wide enough for one. Francesca and Aldo huddled together on the skinny mattress that had been unrolled on the floor. And Dante and Lea … Lottie could hear them talking quietly in the main room. She hadn’t noticed a divan or Chesterfield there, nor any chair that was in any way padded. Were the Scarpellis also lying upon the hard floor? She thought of her parents … what would they have done with too many guests?

They would never have invited them to stay. They certainly would never have given up their own comfort, especially to a stranger.

It was her turn to take a place on the floor. Her sleeping mat lay next to the sisters’ bed. The folded blanket offered little relief. She turned on her side, but without a proper pillow, comfort was an impossibility. She turned onto her stomach. At least her arms could provide some measure of cushion. And at least she could breathe more easily freed from her corset and heavy clothing.

“Dio vi benedica. Buona notte,”
Dante called from the other room.

The family offered their own good-nights.

The oil lamp was extinguished and the room fell into complete blackness. The bedroom had no window, and though the main room had one, the building next door was so close the moonlight could find no entry.

Lottie’s heart began to beat faster. This was the pit of hell. Such darkness, such closeness, such lack of air …

Be thankful for this.

Thankful for sleeping on a floor in an airless room full of strangers who needed a bath as much as she? She’d never been at ease in full darkness and was used to sleeping with a lamp or fireplace lit. How had she moved from her cozy bedroom in Wiltshire to this awful place?

These people fed you. They cared for you. Be thankful for this.

Sudden tears threatened. Tears of gratitude? Reflection? Frustration? Or panic? Whatever their cause, they demanded release. She dug her face into her folded arms and let them come.

Then she felt a gentle hand upon her back. In the darkness she could not see whose it was but heard little Sofia say,
“Non essere triste. Tutto andrà bene.”

Lottie did not understand the little girl’s words but felt their intent. She turned on her side, took the tiny hand in her own, and kissed it.

“
Dormi bene,
Lottie.”

She returned the words as a whisper in the dark. “
Dormi bene,
Sofia.”

Be thankful for this.

She’d try.

Chapter Ten

“Ouch!”

“Scusi!”

Lottie was yanked from sleep by Aldo stepping on her foot. The room was still dark until Lea brought in a lantern, which cast light and undulating shadows over the crowded space.

“Buon giorno,”
she said.

Vittorio sat up in his upper bed, hitting his head on the ceiling.
“Aiye … buon giorno.”

Lottie had no choice but to arise with the rest and move her blankets out of the way. How could it be morning? She’d barely slept, what with the hard floor, the lack of a proper pillow, the stale air, and Aldo’s snoring.

She needed to use the facilities, but cringed at the thought of traipsing down all those flights of stairs to the outhouses in the alley. Her excursion last night—after discovering that neither the Scarpellis nor anyone else in the building had indoor water closets—had made her wish such bodily functions were not necessary.

After folding her blankets, she tugged on Lucia’s sleeve but had no idea what the Italian word was to explain her need. “I …” She looked around the room, hoping the men were not listening. She pointed outside and bounced twice. “W.C.?”

Lucia’s eyes showed recognition.
“Toilette?”

“Yes,
sì
.”

Lottie was glad Lucia didn’t point to the chamber pot in the corner. Privacy was impossible. Instead, she took Lottie’s arm, walked through the main room—offering good-mornings to her family—then led the way to the stairs. At the end of the hall they had to wade through a queue of women carrying vessels to fill with water from the spigot on the wall. One spigot per floor. It was unfathomable. How she longed to wash her face and brush her teeth, but she sensed such personal use would seem frivolous compared to all these women trying to make breakfast for their families. Lottie would take a real bath once she got to the home of Dora’s cousin. All this filth would be behind her soon. But not too soon.

As had been the case the night before, Lottie smelled the outhouses long before she entered the alley to use one. She put a hand to her nose, hoping to squelch the horrific stench. When necessity had forced her to come here last night, it had been dark. The place had frightened her, but she assumed it would be more tolerable with the daylight.

What daylight? The alley was narrow and the tenements high. She doubted sunlight ever reached this awful place. Why would it waste its rays here? But without its presence, shadows greedily consumed the alley. Windows dotted the side of the buildings like dark holes in a birdhouse. At least a dozen lines of laundry hung overhead, spanning the buildings. The clothes hung lifeless. There was no air.

They passed doors on the left, and just as Lottie was thinking these might be storage rooms of some sort, a door opened. Inside, Lottie glimpsed a tiny apartment full of children. People lived in these spaces? Here? With a dozen feet separating the place they ate and slept from the long row of outhouses that spanned the other side of the alley?

There were lines of people waiting to use the facilities—yet the term was far too sophisticated a title. Inside, the outhouses were little more than a few planks of wood spaced just far enough apart to …

She stayed close to Lucia’s side. The men in line gave her looks of curiosity along with other looks that made her want to run upstairs.

Lucia let her go first. In the rickety outhouse, Lottie wasn’t certain which sense was assaulted first. Her nose from the stench, her eyes from the absence of light but for the bit coming through the slits in the wood, or the sense of suffocation from lack of fresh air and lack of space to maneuver her skirt and underclothes. Necessity made her endure it all. She vowed that as soon as she retrieved her trunk, she would get out of these underclothes and burn them.