8. Estelle

8

Estelle

M y eyes felt as if a layer of dust covered the lenses. At first, I had not remembered the dark-haired man who peered at me from a pair of light blue eyes. Then, however, the memories from earlier slipped into my consciousness. This was Dr. Bancroft. Percival. Despite the woolliness of waking from a deep sleep, our pleasant conversation from earlier returned. He'd been kind, offering me a sandwich and to look over me while I slept.

I smiled, pushing stray strands of hair from damp cheeks and forehead. The train's car was stifling hot, and I felt as if I'd not stopped sweating since I went into labor. "Thus far, you're doing an excellent job. Thank you again for the sandwich and sleep."

"You're most welcome," Percival said.

Now what was I to do?

"Are you feeling all right?" Percival asked, watching me carefully with eyes that held deep sorrow. Pain he tried to hide, but as the poets say, the eyes are the mirrors to the soul.

"I'm well enough." A lie. I wasn't well. I'd been hot but now I felt cold, shaky, and disoriented. Was this typical after having a baby? Thinking of getting to my feet and walking into the station and then out to the world made me want to burst into tears.

"Is there someone here to fetch you?" Percival asked.

"There is not. Sadly." I clamped my teeth together to keep them from clattering. I was so cold.

"You're shivering," he said.

"Yes, I'm a little chilled." He was polite enough not to mention that it was a warm afternoon and stuffy on the train.

"Please, allow me to be of service." His expression was one of sympathy. Not predatory. This was not a man who would hurt me. I don't know how I knew that, but I did. "You shouldn't be carrying anything heavy after surgery. I believe you may be feverish."

"I only have the one bag," I said lamely, gesturing toward the one stowed at my feet. Feverish? Did that mean I had an infection?

He stood and offered me his hand. "Allow me to escort you from the train. I can arrange for a cab to take you to your destination."

"I don't have one. A destination." I gave him my hand, grateful for the assist to my feet. The pain had not lessened while I slept—it felt as if a sharp rock had smashed into my private parts. "I'm new to the city and have yet to secure lodgings or work."

"I see. Perhaps I can be of some help." His eyes crinkled attractively at the corners. As I'd noticed before, he was quite handsome, blessed with a strong jawline and high cheekbones. Although a lonesome quality clung to him like tobacco smoke in a tweed jacket. I guessed him to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

Earlier, when he'd addressed me with such kindness, I'd been relieved to see he wore a wedding ring, which meant he was only offering assistance out of compassion, not for seduction.

The lie about my name had rolled surprisingly easily from my tongue. I must remember that I was Stella McCord now. Stella had been a nickname Mauve had called me when we were small. Where I'd come up with McCord, I could not say. As I'd noted before, creativity was an elusive little muse. Who knew from whence it came? Regardless of the answer, I was venturing into a whole new way of life—one built from lies and sorrow. I was a liar.

"Let's get you out of here and somewhere comfortable," Percival said.

I was too tired to resist and merely nodded my consent.

We disembarked and then walked slowly toward the main part of the station. My typical quick gait wasn't possible. Percival seemed to intuitively understand, tucking my arm close to his side and walking with care while holding my bag in his other hand.

We entered the bustling Main Concourse, grand and elegant. A mural of constellations and stars in gold against a blue background had been painted on the ceiling. Early-morning light coming in the large east-facing glass windows highlighted the marble floor, classical columns, and arches. The four-faced opal clock atop the information booth brought memories of an enjoyable lunch at the Oyster Bar with my mother and sister. We'd come to the city for a shopping excursion before our season had begun. How happy I'd been that day. How naive.

A dart of grief almost brought me to my knees. Instead, I stumbled slightly. Percival steadied me, then led me away from the congested pathway of hurried people.

"Stella, although I fear you'll think me impertinent, you have me worried. Even if I were not a doctor, I can clearly see you're in pain. You have no place to go. Leaving you seems reckless and cruel. In any event, my mother would not forgive me if I left you alone."

"You're very generous, but I'll be fine. I'll rent a room in a boardinghouse and find a position somewhere." All I wanted was to sleep for days. But that would not be possible. I had to find work. Unfortunately, I had no skills other than knowing what kind of sandwiches to serve at a tea party.

"Do you know the city at all?"

"A little," I said.

"Please, accept my invitation to come home with me. My mother will look after you. In fact, she can assist you in finding a place to live and perhaps even a position."

"I'm not educated in anything. Other than finishing school."

His eyes glittered with curiosity, but he didn't ask further questions. "Mother's a resourceful woman."

My mind raced. Should I take him up on his offer? He could be a killer. Maybe he picked women up on the train and took them home to kill them.

"Will you murder me?" I asked weakly. If he was a murderer, I could only hope it wouldn't be painful. How much worse could it be than sleeping on the street?

He laughed, deep and rumbly. "I'm not a murderer. Only a man raised by a woman who would not forgive an unkindness in her son. She taught me to offer generosity whenever possible."

"She would be pleased with you today," I said. "You've been considerate and attentive. To a total stranger, no less."

"Think nothing of it. We have an apartment on Riverside Drive with a guest room and enough staff that you'll be well taken care of. For fear of sounding immodest, my home would provide a good place to convalesce. You may stay with us as long as it takes to get on your feet."

"What about your wife? Will she care that you're arriving with a strange woman?"

The same shadow from earlier descended upon his fine features. "Am I right to assume your story's complicated?"

I stared at the tips of my shoes poking out from under the hem of my long coat. "Yes, that's correct."

"I, too, have a complicated story. Suffice to say, my wife won't mind. She's very ill and no longer lives with me."

There was a wife, but she did not share a home with him? "Where is she?" I couldn't help but ask.

"She's staying somewhere that provides care for the chronically ill." His tone told me the subject was not welcome. I would not ask him anything else. It was none of my business. There were details he didn't want to share, just as I had secrets of my own.

"I'm sorry about your wife."

"Thank you."

"Why would you do this for me? You've only just met me."

He smiled, lifting one shoulder. "Life can be terribly cruel. I'm a man who knows that only too well. The only good that's come from tragedy is that it's given me more empathy. When I extend a kindness to you, it's like offering help to myself."

I thought for exactly two more seconds about whether or not to accept his invitation and decided that I would take him at his word. If he were a killer, then he could put me out of my misery. In fact, it didn't sound all that bad to leave the world behind for whatever came next. "Yes, thank you, I accept your invitation."

"Excellent. Off we go. My driver will be waiting for us just outside the doors."

"How come you don't have a bag?" I asked.

"My trip was not overnight," he said. "Thus, I travel light."

I'd normally have been curious about the nature of his travel, but I was too tired and beleaguered to ask. Perhaps I could ask him more about it later? For now, I was grateful to follow him out of the station.

Dr. Percival Bancroft's apartment on Riverside Drive stood tall, with multiple stories, each featuring large, symmetrically placed windows. The entrance, flanked by decorative wrought iron lanterns, was set back from the street, surrounded by a well-manicured garden.

His chauffeur, who had driven us to the apartment through the busy, loud streets of New York, bounded up the stairs to the front door and held it open for me to enter. I winced climbing the steps but managed to make it inside, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. It was a spacious, high-ceilinged foyer, adorned with a large ornate mirror and a beautifully crafted console table. The intricately patterned marble floors reflected the light from a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

A dark-haired butler hustled toward us, taking my bag from Percival's hand.

"Thank you, Robert," Percival said.

"Miss McCord, this is Robert, our butler. He'll take care of anything you need during your stay."

Robert bobbed his head. "Pleased to meet you, Miss McCord. May I take your coat?"

Panic temporarily rendered me mute. I dared not take off my coat for multiple reasons. Firstly, I still looked pregnant, having dressed without a corset. Secondly, I was fearful I'd stained my skirt with blood. The last time I'd put in a new rag was before I got on the train. What if I'd bled through?

"I'd like to keep my coat on," I said. "I'm cold."

"As you wish, Miss McCord," Robert said.

"Is my mother home?" Bancroft asked.

"Yes, sir. She was out this morning but has returned. She's in the living room having her tea."

"Good. We'll say hello to her first, but please take Miss McCord's bag to the guest room."

"Right away, sir."

Percival guided me down a hallway to the expansive living room. Large windows draped in luxurious, heavy fabrics allowed for ample natural light and provided breathtaking views of the Hudson River and Riverside Park. Like my mother's house, the furniture was of the finest quality, featuring rich, dark wood, plush upholsteries, and elegant designs. A large ornate fireplace served as the focal point of the room.

In a chair beside the unlit fireplace, an elegant, beautiful woman sat with a newspaper spread out on the coffee table. Her dark hair had streaks of silver, but her round face had retained a youthful glow. She looked up when we came in, sunlight reflected in her eyes. They were remarkably similar to Percival's, I noticed. Her expression conveyed surprise, quickly replaced by a friendly smile.

"Percy, darling, who have we here?" She stood to greet us.

"Mother, this is Miss Stella McCord. She's in need of a place to stay for a few days. Stella, this is my mother, Mrs. Bancroft."

Mrs. Bancroft held out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Stella. You're white as a ghost. Are you feeling sickly?

"She's just had surgery," Percival said.

Mrs. Bancroft didn't say anything for a second or two, appraising me. Could she see right through my lies already? "Dear me, why on earth are you out and about?"

"I had no choice," I mumbled.

"She's new to the city and without a place to land," Percival said. "I've invited her to stay with us until she's well enough to hunt for somewhere to live."

"I'm delighted you're here," Mrs. Bancroft said. "Please forgive my intrusiveness, but what kind of surgery?"

"Um…I'd rather not say." I flushed with heat. Perspiration seemed to come out of every pore in my body.

"Of course," Mrs. Bancroft said. "Are you hungry or thirsty?"

"I'm both. However, I'm mostly in need of a bath and a change of clothes."

"She's seeking a position," Percival said. "I thought we might be of some assistance."

"Yes, we can speak of that later," Mrs. Bancroft said. "Miss McCord, you're clearly in no condition to work. For now, we'll show you to your room where you can bathe and change clothes. I'll have tea sent up. Then you should rest."

"I'll leave you in the capable hands of my mother." Percival gave me another one of his gentle smiles. "Mother, I'm heading out to check on a few patients but will be home for supper."

He kissed his mother on the cheek and then strode across the room and disappeared into the foyer.

"Come along, dear," Mrs. Bancroft said. "I'll have Robert take you to your room."

Soon, I found myself in a spacious guest room with a large bed and finely crafted furniture in addition to a private sitting area and an ensuite bathroom equipped with a claw-foot bathtub. Deep longing for home and my sister nearly overwhelmed me. I instinctively placed my hand on my stomach, thinking the baby was still nestled there, but then I remembered. I was empty. Nothing would ever fill the space left by Mireille. But I had to get on with things, including living the rest of my life without my family. I could not go home again. My life was about survival now.

A young flaxen-haired maid arrived, dressed in a black dress and white apron. "This is Penelope," Mrs. Bancroft said. "She'll look after you during your stay with us."

"Pleased to meet you." Smiling, Penelope bobbed her head, dimples appearing on both sides of her mouth. Everything about her was round: eyes, the shape of her face, and her hourglass figure.

Mrs. Bancroft instructed her to run a bath before returning her attention back to me. "Miss McCord, please sit. You look dead on your feet."

I felt dead. "Thank you. It's been a long few days."

Mrs. Bancroft tucked a stray hair back into her bun. "I'm going to leave you be for now. Your tea will be waiting after you bathe. I do encourage you to rest. Perhaps later, we can discuss your plans, but for now you must allow us to look after you."

"Thank you." I had no idea what I would say or do during that discussion of my plans, but at this point I didn't care. I wanted only to bathe and sleep. After those primary needs were taken care of then I could perhaps focus on what in the world I was to do next.

I'd just come out of the bath and slipped into the robe Penelope had left for me when she came in to gather my clothes, ostensibly for a wash. If she noticed the extent to which blood had soaked through my petticoat and the back of my skirt, she didn't say anything or visibly react. "May I take these to the washroom? We'll do our best to get the stains out."

"That would be lovely, thank you," I said stiffly. My breasts were painful and engorged. Milk had come in, but there was no one to feed.

"I've hung your other dress in the wardrobe. Your nightgown and underclothes are in the dresser drawers."

"Wonderful, thank you again." I sank onto the nearest chair, feeling as if I might faint.

Pangs similar to those associated with my monthlies tightened my belly. I felt a burst of blood between my legs. If I didn't pin a rag in place soon, I would leak all over the rug. "I need something for my monthlies."

"Yes, of course. I've put some in here." She yanked open the bottom drawer and handed one to me, in addition to a clean chemise and bloomers.

I excused myself and returned to the bathroom. I pinned the cloth pad into place and then pulled the chemise over my head. When I returned to the bedroom, Penelope was placing a tray of food on the table next to the bed. "They've sent up tea sandwiches and cake. Are you hungry?"

"Not really. I had a sandwich earlier." Without my clothes, I felt even colder. I stood there shivering and feeling as if I might pass out.

Penelope watched me, eyes full of concern. "You've grown ever so pale. Please get into bed. Mrs. Bancroft will not want you up and about in your condition." She pulled back the covers. "In you go."

I sighed, feeling the weight of a thousand pounds on my shoulders as I gingerly lowered myself onto the bed. Meanwhile, Penelope plumped and arranged the pillows just so.

"Miss, should I ask Dr. Bancroft to take a look at you?"

I sank back into the softness of the feather pillows, relieved. If I could stay like this for a hundred years, I might feel like standing again. The ordeal of the day had caught up with me. I fought tears and utter fatigue, too tired to think of an answer. "No, I'm fine."

"But you've recently had a baby."

There was no use to lie. Penelope could see the evidence. However, she didn't have to know all of the circumstances of my trouble. "She was stillborn."

Penelope clucked in sympathy. "I'm sorry. My sister lost a baby last year. She took it hard." She went to the tray and returned with a tea-sized sandwich. "Now, take a few bites of this before you sleep."

I did as she asked, then sank back into the soft pillows.

"When did the baby come?" Penelope asked.

"Yesterday."

"Oh, miss, you shouldn't be up and about, traveling on a train. Don't you have any people to look after you?"

"I do not. My fiancé was killed before we could marry."

"And your family?" Penelope asked.

"They've sent me away."

"How awful, miss. I'm very sorry."

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"My sister's baby lived only a few days," Penelope said. "Poor little mite was born too early. She was devastated but since then she had a healthy baby boy. A friend of mine—she had to give her baby away because she had no husband."

"Is she all right? Your friend who gave away the baby?"

Penelope peeked up at me from beneath her lashes. "She's never been the same, but life continues, whether we want it to or not."

"Right." My fate had been sealed. How could I go on and live life, knowing everything I loved had been left behind?

I shook my head when she offered me another sandwich. She put the plate back on the tray and then returned to touch her cool hand against my forehead. "You're very warm. I'm going to have to report this to Dr. Bancroft."

"I'm fine. Other than my breasts. They're sore and engorged."

"I know what to do." Penelope got up and went over to the dresser, returning with several strips of linen material. "I'll need you to sit up for me so I can wrap your chest. This will help dry up your milk."

I did as she asked. Soon, she had my chest bound tightly and had me tucked under the covers.

"Please, sleep. I'll be back to check on you later."

"Before you go—are the Bancrofts good employers?" I asked. "Good people?"

"Yes. They treat the staff well." She tugged on her apron. "They've had their own share of trials, but they've never ceased being kind to us."

"What kind of troubles?"

"Oh, it's not for me to say. You may ask Mrs. Bancroft. If she wants you to know, then she should be the one to tell you."

Fair enough, I thought. It was none of my business. Anyway, I would not be here long. I could not take advantage of their hospitality any longer than absolutely necessary.

Penelope pulled the curtains closed so that only a crack of light came through. As soon as I heard the door click behind me, I shut my eyes. Sleep captured me almost immediately.