Baker's Woman Read online

  “Dormant, yes, but making itself ready for spring,” she said softly and turned again to the window. “I think everything is very beautiful now.”

  “Everything,” he agreed.

  “I am fortunate to be here, Sam, and grateful to you. But how can I repay you? Can you tell me what am I to do with my life?”

  “Please, Florence, I don’t expect anything from you while I take care of you. We’ve no need to rush toward the future. We must allow time to acquaint you with the city- and with me.”

  “I’m not used to being taken care of, Sam. I know how to work, be useful. I have a few skills. I learn quickly.”

  “Dear child, there is no hurry! I have not taken you on as a servant. Allow yourself be taken care of for a bit; trust me. You have been through terrible times, and I mean to help you. I would hope to restore your spirits, see to your wardrobe, and perhaps teach you to enjoy life again.”

  “I’m sorry to question so much — to seem impertinent.”

  “Don’t apologize. We shall, in time, talk about all manner of things. But now you need food and rest, and I must talk with Singh. I’ll have your supper sent up. Perhaps Adrianna will join you.”

  He patted her shoulder and left the suite just as Adrianna came to suggest Florence come out with her in the morning to shop for clothes.

  “I must go now. I like to keep my eye on the prince, you know,” she said, with her little laugh that sounded to Florence like notes of the scale.

  Florence did not at all mind being left alone. She was hungry and enjoyed the food, but she was also happy for the chance to explore the elegant rooms. The long windows, the deep carpets, the soft lights all called up her childhood, and she saw her mother in blue silk, seated at a piano, and her hands crossing over each other as they stroked the keys. She recalled a piano lesson and one of its melodies, and she hummed phrases of an “Ode to Joy” as she strolled through the rooms, admiring a crystal inkwell on the writing table and a painting of pretty ladies in a garden.

  In Sam’s room the bedcover was a vibrant maroon, and his bags lay unopened on a bench in his dressing room. In the room she could not believe was hers, the bed had a silky white cover and some little pillows, all a pale sea-green satin covered with white lace. She turned back the covers and stroked the sheets.

  Later she slipped naked between those smooth sheets and remembered how she lovely it felt to climb into the big bed Rina had prepared for her, a bed she would have been sharing with her mother. She remembered sitting on its edge, safely enjoying a moment of creature comfort before falling into the vast unknown where she would make her life.

  Smoke stung her nostrils / caught in her throat / smothered her scream. Her gown weighed on her limbs / dragging her down as she stumbled and crawled over rough boards and heaps of shoes. Somewhere in the dark Marie screamed a single piercing note.

  Florence sat up in bed, sweating and panting. She pushed back the comforter. Her head swam as she set her feet on the carpet. Smoke still floated above the guttering lamp, and she steadied herself with one hand on the bedside table and with the other felt for the small brass knob. She turned it and the yellow flame flared, and she eased it down until it was a blue petal edged in white.

  She pulled a quilt from the mound of bedding and, drawing it around her shoulders, crept into the sitting room.

  Moonlight lay in a trapezoid on the carpet, and the door opposite hers stood open. She listened for the sound of Sam’s breathing, and hearing nothing, crossed a rectangle of moonlight and listened again. She was alone and felt both relieved and disappointed. She couldn’t have spoken had he been there, yet she yearned for the sound of a real voice to dispel her dream. When she returned to bed, she left the lamp burning and stared at the walls.

  Later she heard steps, voices, and a key in the lock. She turned out the lamp and held her knuckles to her mouth as steps crossed the sitting room and a door clicked shut.

  The day awoke her with bright sunlight and the clink of dishes on a tray. From the marble and mahogany wash stand she took the china chamber pot and sat tight on its cold edge. She released her stream slowly so as not to be heard and, after she washed, poured soapy water into the pot and covered it. She brushed her hair, braided it and wound it in a coronet. At the moment she stepped into the sitting room, Sam in his dressing robe appeared in the opposite doorway. His shirt collar lay open, and his beard was dark with water, his cheeks taut and shiny along their freshly shaven edges. It occurred to her that they had performed similar private acts simultaneously, and for some reason she wanted to laugh.

  She wondered if he felt as constrained as she did, and she considered how such matters might be between man and wife. Did they sleep in one bed? Did they see one another use a chamber pot? Did they sponge one another’s backs as she and Marie had done?

  She knew so little about her parents, and in Madteos’ house there were only his children and his mother. How did a man and woman behave?

  “Good morning, Florence. I didn’t hear you up.”

  Feeling he’d read her mind, she blushed as she poured both coffee and steamy milk into the wide cups, just as Adrianna had done, two streams meeting and blending above the cups.

  They smiled at each other, passing a basket of warm breads or a plate of sliced oranges, and made small talk about food and the portent of the brilliant sunshine. Words came more easily, gestures more familiar, and a slight frown or shake of the head asked the other to rephrase or repeat. Though Sam’s German was adequate, idioms often eluded him, and he retreated to painfully formal speech. At times he tried French, but not knowing that she’d been taught it as a very young child, he overestimated her ability.

  “Today we must go out, see something of the city, find good shops. You need a whole wardrobe.”

  “I think Adrianna won’t want this dress back.”

  “Correct. She said to give you her best wishes. As did Singh. They have chosen to spend the day by themselves and hoped you would not mind postponing your shopping trip.”

  “Oh, no, of course not.”

  “They mentioned going on to Constantinople, but I discouraged them, selfishly, for I believe she can be very helpful to you. I know so little about women’s clothing.”

  “Ah, you mean how to shop for me? I know nothing. I’ve never even seen such shops as those we passed. And so many of them!”

  “Don’t worry, the Countess knows everything.”

  Florence looked forward to being with Adrianna, but hoped she would not have to see much of Singh. He seemed bored by her, condescending, maybe even disapproving.

  After breakfast Sam took Florence for a walk to explore the streets near the hotel.

  A more specific aim was to find shoes and a warm cloak for her. In shop where Florence saw a display of underclothes, Sam said a few words to a sales-woman and went out. He returned half an hour later and paid for the purchases so discreetly she scarcely saw the transaction. After they had bought a cloak and shoes, she wore them as she strolled with Sam along broad avenues and admired stone buildings with carved cornices and lintels. At a restaurant facing a small park, they were seated at a table with a view, and Florence told him how she admired the very stones of the streets.

  “They’re fitted together on streets and walks as carefully as in the buildings. I’ve never seen such care given to roads,” she said and blushed for being naive.

  In the days that followed, Florence followed Adrianna from one shop to another, astounded by the number of places and varieties of clothing. They tried on gowns of fine fabrics and gloves of silky leather.

  It was a great deal of trouble to go to, yet Adrianna obviously loved it, laughing often and buying what seemed to Florence an excessive quantity of things to wear. When Adrianna finally tired, they stopped in a pastry shop for pretty sweets and tiny cups of strong coffee.

  Another day when Adrianna wanted to be with the prince, Sam suggested to Florence that she go out on her own. He gave her a leather purse and assur
ed her she could ask the sales people to help her with the currency. Despite his obvious confidence in her, Florence protested.

  “I have a roomful of clothes!”

  “There must be something Adrianna missed. Besides that, you need the experience.”

  “That’s true. I need to learn such things.”

  She knew she must go and thought of it as a test. In the evening she returned the purse and brought out a coarse brown dressing gown and felt slippers. When Sam saw them, he stood up, threw down the purse, and strode to the window where he stood with his back to her.

  “I can take them back.”

  “Of course you can, Florence,” he sighed and turned to her with a sad expression. “I was trying to understand why you have chosen things that are ugly and unsuitable.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll return them tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want you to apologize, but to understand.” He took the robe from her hands and tossed it aside. “You are never to buy anything ugly, never to wear anything ugly. I suspect you wanted to be thrifty, and you need never do that either!”

  “I am sorry. I will return them tomorrow.” Her face and ears burned, and she picked up the robe to take it to her room. But Sam caught her arm.

  “I am not angry with you, my dear. Let me try to explain why I responded so inappropriately.” He steered her to the settee and sat beside her with his hand on her arm.

  “Though distressing to tell, there are things about me that will help you forgive my chastising you.”

  Florence waited, not having an idea of what he might say. He began with his gaze fixed at some point beyond her shoulder, as if reading the words in the air.

  “I married a parson’s daughter. She knew little of the world and less of fashion, and understood thrift to be a virtue. She bore and reared our children in an outpost where I did very little to make her domestic life easy. Too many children, too far from home, from her sisters.” He lowered his head and sighed, “This is quite difficult.”

  As startling as the revelations was his unexpected wish to tell them to her. But Florence soon recognized his futile regret and was moved by his sorrow. She laid a hand on his arm. “We were still young when two of our sons died and later a daughter was stillborn. Three healthy girls were our solace, but when my wife knew another child was expected, she seemed to lose all strength, all cheer. Belatedly, I recognized the toll these years had taken. I took her home, a long voyage around the cape, and in England she gave birth to another daughter. To speed her recovery, I took her to the clear, dry air of the Pyrenees, and there she caught typhoid and died.

  “I knew I had failed her most dreadfully, culpably. During our life together, I’d been blind, selfish. I failed to provide a life it was well within my means to give.”

  “Surely not. You must have shared in decisions and in the adventures, too. It could not have been so bleak as you now think. You must be forgetting the good parts.”

  “Had we stayed in England, she would not have died.”

  “Maybe, but you cannot know that. She must have been happy, with the children. And you loved her.”

  “Thank you, Florence, for hearing this and being kind. But I know.”

  He stood, retrieved the purse, put it in her hand, and held her hand in both of his.

  “Buy quality, Florence, good fabrics and workmanship are essential, and elegant. It is never, never extravagant to pay for beauty.”

  He looked relieved as he took her shoulder and faced her, and suddenly he smiled broadly. “And I hope never to see you in brown. I know that sounds trivial, but it’s such a dull color.” Florence smiled and watched him go to the console table and pour two sherries.

  “I have engaged an English tutor to come every morning at nine. At three, a seamstress will be here to measure you for a summer wardrobe. Now you must excuse me. Sleep well.”

  Florence had much to think about. She understood that she had bought something because it was cheap, but why did it lead to his blaming himself for the past, for everything he’d done, or not done? He had surely learned and changed, or else he’d not have spoken so. She now realized that no matter what he said, when she told him she was grateful, he did like it. She must find ways to make him believe it.

  * * *

  Alone in his room, Sam stood for several minutes with his back against the door.

  He felt foolish for scolding her and more so for blathering on about himself. If he’d astonished himself, what could this stoic young girl have made of his maudlin revelations? She seemed to understand, yet what could she know of his life?

  It occurred to him that in relating how he’d behaved toward his wife, he may have implied a comparison between her and his wife. And it shamed him that he’d clearly been seeking her good opinion and promising to treat her better than he had Harriett. He hadn’t considered such implications. This young woman, in all innocence, inspired such trust that he had acted and spoken impetuously. He’d scolded when he should have instructed, and then instead of apologizing, had solicited her sympathy. So much for being master of any situation.

  Sam moved about his room, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his collar. He emptied his pockets on the dresser, and coins scattered on the floor, where he left them. He poured a few fingers of whiskey into a glass and sighed.

  Merciful God! Why was he pondering his motives? It was high time for him to get back to an active life, to a worthy routine. He had, after all, a purpose. He must no longer defer setting his course for Africa. He had delayed too long.

  Chapter 5

  Florence had gone to bed happy that Sam confided in her. It made her feel less a burden to him and, though not really a friend, a person who might understand. Maybe it helped him to say what he felt just as telling him things helped her to endure the loss of Marie and to retain hope for the useful life she had promised they’d find. During the journey, Sam had told her about a nurse who went to Crimea during the war and showed people that women could take care of wounded men, that nursing was a respectable occupation for a woman.

  And after the war she taught other women in a London hospital. And her name was Florence, too.

  At breakfast, Sam spoke of his plans to see someone about two English men named Barkley, brothers who were building a railroad across Europe.

  “From what I’ve gathered, construction is under way. The men’s father was someone my father knew and respected.”

  Florence didn’t ask questions even though she was curious about Sam’s interest in railways. And he had never before mentioned his father either. So she said nothing, and he rose suddenly from the table.

  “I had almost forgotten your tutor will be here this morning. I hope you like him. He comes well recommended.”

  “I’m sure I will. I’m eager to have the lessons, Sam. Thank you.”

  “Not at all. I expect to be away all day.”

  Mr. Morley arrived punctually at ten, bringing several books, including German and English dictionaries. He was a young man with warm brown eyes and an easy smile, and his lessons seemed to Florence to be very useful. They consisted in practical conversations travelers might very well have and included information about places she would like to see. He had studied in England and had traveled all over the continent. And he encouraged her with his smiles and nods when she spoke.

  At noon as they said goodbye in her doorway, she saw Adrianna and Singh come up the stairs, and she waved to them. “Ah, that must have been your professor we met just now.” Adrianna said. “He’s quite handsome.”

  “And most interesting. Why don’t you both come in? We can have lunch sent up. I am starving!”

  “You look as if you’ve enjoyed your lesson. And I’d love to have lunch with you. Duleep has promised to meet Sam at a men’s club.”

  “Such a club is not my invention,” Singh assured them. “Will you offer me a sherry with you ladies before I must leave?”

  Singh had never seemed as gracious, and during their aperitif
he even showed an interest in her morning. In her morning! After he had gone, Adrianna described her own morning at the university and the arboretum.

  “Singh was determined to see every plant. We walked for miles!”

  “Plants? Those were what he studied in England?”

  “No, his field was economics. But he’s long had a passion for botany. He has dreamed of being a professor, to have a lecturer’s post in Europe.” Adrianna smiled brightly and added, “He is truly brilliant.”

  “I didn’t know he was a scholar. Would you prefer his staying in Europe, or do you want to go to his country?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing to do with me. He will go home, take a position in the government, and maybe someday return as a traveler in Europe.”

  “And you say it is nothing to do with you? You mean you won’t go with him?”

  “Oh, no, no. I couldn’t go to the Punjab.”

  “But why not? It would be fascinating. Sam says it is beautiful and now is very British.”

  “Duleep must return to his family, his obligations.”

  Adrianna paused and looked intently at Florence. “Surely you know we are not married.”

  “Well, I believe I knew, but that doesn’t mean,” Florence felt her way through the question, “doesn’t mean that you’ll not stay together, or does it?”

  “My dear, that is precisely what it means.” Adrianna stood up and walked toward a mirror where she examined her face for a moment. “Duleep is betrothed to a girl not yet twelve years old. He will marry her and have a family.”

  Florence looked at Adrianna’s perfectly composed face and feared her own face showed astonishment besides her distress for her friend.

  “Where will you go? What will you do?”

  “It’s all right, Florence, really.” Adrianna had turned from the mirror and put a hand on Florence’s. “My home is in Alsace, near Strasbourg, and I keep an apartment in Paris. I do not belong in India.”

  At that moment they were interrupted by a tap at the door.

  Florence admitted a small woman who introduced herself as Madame Carlotta. Madame acknowledged Adrianna with a suggestion of a curtsy and turned to open her portmanteau. She laid out tape measure, pin cushion, and tidy squares of fabric. Handing Florence a stack of drawings, she said she was prepared to adapt any of the styles to Florence’s liking.