“Will you be able to keep the flat, to keep the children here?”
Daisy glanced about, as if seeing the room for the first time. “I don’t know how we’ll pay for it. My mother wanted me to be part of a better life, and that’s what I’ve done. But I can’t afford it.”
The regret and pain in her voice moved Sara. “My mother did the same thing. Sent me away so I could rise up above my station. Your journey’s just beginning. Your mother must’ve been very proud of you.”
The boy with the black hair entered the room. “She dead, then?”
Daisy didn’t respond. The answer was obvious.
“We won’t be able to manage, not without her wages,” the boy said.
Discussing such pedestrian matters over the body of their mother might have seemed inappropriate, but Sara knew the very survival of the family was at stake.
Daisy straightened the quilt on the bed as if she were tucking in a child. “We’ll manage. Always have.”
“I’ll get another job.”
Daisy shook her head. “You’re a lowly stable boy, Seamus. What else are you going to do? Be valet to a gentleman? Nothing you find will match Mum’s sewing.”
“Then you can stay home and sew. How about that for an idea?” He jutted out his chin.
“Makes more sense for you to do that instead.”
“I don’t do women’s work. Don’t be daft.” His words had a sharp edge to them, as if he’d funneled his grief into fury. “I won’t stay home. It’s not right. I’m the man.”
Sara hated seeing them at each other like this. “There must be a way to manage.”
Seamus pointed a finger at her. “Who’s this, then?”
“She’s in charge of me, my supervisor,” said Daisy. “Leave her be.”
He left in a frenzy of curses. Tears rolled down Daisy’s cheeks, her gaze never leaving her mother’s body on the bed. “Seamus was her favorite. He’ll settle down after a while.”
Such hardship. “I’ll speak with Mr. Douglas, see if we can arrange your schedule so you can come downtown twice a week instead of once. Perhaps we can add to your responsibilities, and raise your wage.”
Daisy looked up at her, her mouth beginning to wobble. “Would you do that for me?”
“Of course.”
Sara left Daisy and her brothers and sisters to mourn, after telling Daisy to take the time she needed to make arrangements. Back on the street, in the midst of the noise and grime, her words to the girl sounded silly, trite. There were no guarantees. It struck her that the staff of the Dakota had become their own kind of family over the past couple of months, including Sara in the role of wise older sister and Daisy as the brash young thing, in part because of the far-flung locale but also because there were no longtimers who rued “the way things used to be.” They’d all jumped on board the train at the same time. And, while at the Langham she’d have stayed removed from the staff’s personal lives, Daisy’s well-being truly mattered to her.
Sara would try to help. It was the least she could do.
Sara looked up from the payroll numbers she’d been staring at for the past five minutes. Mr. Douglas showed up every Tuesday like clockwork to go over the books, taking her place behind the desk and making her wait as he double-checked the figures, the only sound in the room the thin whistle of his breathing. She had to be prepared, but this morning the interruptions seemed endless. The porters had tracked pine needles everywhere while wrestling the denuded Christmas trees out of the tenants’ apartments, Mr. Bates on the seventh floor had lodged an official complaint about the barber’s political rants, and Mrs. Westcott had insisted the chef serve a Washington pie for tea, even if it wasn’t on the day’s menu.
Sara’s stomach was still queasy and the Washington pie discussion hadn’t helped matters, even after she’d taken an extra swig from the bottle of Dr. Walker’s Vinegar Bitters. The prettiness of the sea-blue glass belied the nasty taste of the liquid, but Mrs. Haines, who’d recommended it after inquiring after Sara’s health a week ago, had sworn the elixir would settle her indigestion. Sara took a dose every day, eager for anything to reduce the nausea.
Since that awful moment on the El, Sara had steered her thoughts away from the possibility that she was with child. The weather had turned brutal; everyone on staff was catching some kind of bug or other. That had to be the reason for her illness, her recent weakness.
“Here are the day’s receipts for your signature, Mrs. Smythe.” Daisy dropped them on her desk and stood waiting in silence as Sara signed each one.
Mr. Douglas had denied Sara’s request for Daisy’s pay raise, and only given her one extra day off a month, much to Sara’s chagrin. She felt terrible about having raised the girl’s hopes and had tolerated her sulkiness in the three weeks since her mother had passed. Yet so far the worst hadn’t happened, and the family were all still ensconced in the tenement apartment on the East Side.
When Sara handed the receipts back, she noticed Daisy was carrying a bucket with a cloth draped over the top.
“Daisy, what’s that?”
But before Daisy could answer, the rancid odor of fish hit Sara’s nostrils. Without warning, the toast Sara had eaten for breakfast threatened to come up, and she gestured for Daisy to shut the door fast. The girl was quick on her feet, and with a mix of relief and horror, Sara vomited into the wastepaper basket by her desk. She lowered herself to the floor, her back against the cabinets.
“God, oh God.” The only words that would come out of her mouth. She was ruined, completely ruined.
Daisy was by her side, handing her a handkerchief. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s the bucket of fish. Put it outside.”
Daisy did as she was told, closing the door softly before kneeling down beside Sara. “Fitzroy asked me to bring it down to the cook. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not your fault.”
“Are you ill?”
“No. Well, I don’t know.”
Daisy hesitated before responding. “Don’t worry, you’ll be all right. I’ve seen it before.”
Sara looked up in panic. Daisy knew.
“I won’t tell. My mother had the same symptoms with every child.” She gave a solemn nod. “Your secret’s safe with me. You were so good to me when my mother died, I want to help you.”
Daisy’s eyes were wide, encouraging. Although just a girl, she’d seen so much of babies being born, and of death. Sara’s life so far had been void of any close relationships, save Theo, and for a minute she envied the girl her worldly knowledge. Would it be wrong to open up to her? “You’re a child, Daisy, you don’t need to be burdened with the knowledge of my terrible deed.”
“It’s Mr. Camden, isn’t it?”
Sara put the handkerchief to her lips, trying to keep her stare blank.
“I noticed the way he looks at you. He loves you.” They’d spent so much time together, of course the girl knew. Sara had been stupid to think she could keep it hidden.
“He’s married.”
“But now you’re carrying his baby.” Daisy sighed.
The girl was caught up in the romance of it. “He can’t ever know.” Sara clutched Daisy’s wrist. “You can’t tell him.”
“Of course I won’t.” Her words rang true and released in Sara a flood of unspoken fears.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t have a child. I’ll lose everything.”
“I know someone who can help. Downtown, there’s a woman who knows what to do.”
Sara had heard of such things, of course. She also knew they were terribly dangerous and didn’t always work. But her job was on the line; she would be fired if she got too far along.
“How would it work?”
Daisy patted her hand. “I’ll ask about her and let you know.”
“I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do.”
“Of course it is. What other choice do you have?”
The door of the office flew open and Mrs. Haines’s sour face glared down at them. “What are you doing on the floor?”