Edouard looks sad and I’m not sure if it’s me he pities or my lies. “How did you explain your poverty to them?”
“I told them that men came after my father died and took everything away. The paintings, the silver, the china. I said that there were debts that had to be paid off. The tale wasn’t so different from the real reasons some of the other girls were there. Adda’s mother was widowed and could no longer afford her. Adda’s dearest hope was to get married. Another girl, Naatje, wanted to travel the world. Whenever she and I talked, I conjured all of the faraway locations I’d dreamed or read about with my father. I reminisced about the Indies, France, England. I was poor but my stories lifted us all out of that awful school. Some days we were able to forget we were there, in service, unlikely to ever get married and have children of our own.”
“Your father was alive. Did he ever try to contact you?”
“No. I wrote to him. I described the school and what my life had become and I believed he would collect me and my brothers and bring us all home.”
“How many brothers?”
“Three. Ari, Cornelius, and Johannes. For months and months I held on to the dream of my father’s return. It became a precious gem, one I polished into different visions of reality. Outside of my fantasies, every day was the same: up at six, greet the children at seven, read to them for an hour, take them for a walk. Paint with them. Take them to lunch. Nap time. Clean up after them as they sleep. Songs followed by more stories. Then the children go home. Then preparing for the following day. Then dinner.” It was an endless cycle: endless whining, endless crying, endless runny noses. The school said it was good for children to have fresh air. No matter the weather. I didn’t have a warm coat.”
“And now you have half a dozen furs.”
I see what he’s implying. He’s suggesting my outrageous spending is related to my wretched past. “There are times when it’s very cold here,” I say defensively.
“And your father . . . He never came for you?”
“Of course not.”
A waiter comes and asks if I would like a second cup of coffee. Edouard isn’t halfway through with his first. I tell him yes. Then I close my eyes briefly and concentrate on the warm scent of spring. I hear the bells ringing at St.-Germain-des-Prés and am instantly reminded of my church days in Leyde.
“The newest girl always sits next to me,” the Walrus said the first Sunday I arrived. But there wasn’t any room for him in the pew where I was seated. He hooked his thumbs around his suspenders and stared at Naatje, who was sitting next to me.
“I’m sure we are as tightly packed as we can be,” our head instructor, Mrs. Van Tassel, said primly.
“Did your family take you to church often?” the Walrus asked me, ignoring Van Tassel.
“Every Sunday,” I told him. I didn’t like the way he focused on me. He was paying me too much attention, often following me during school hours. He squeezed my shoulders. “A good girl,” he said, and sat behind me.
Naatje narrowed her eyes and Mrs. Van Tassel hissed in my ear, “This is church, Miss Zelle. I suggest you stop encouraging him.”
I looked at the headmistress with her gray hair wrapped tightly in a small, neat bun, and I was mute with outrage. The preacher was talking about Jonah’s sins and I was thinking that if there was a God, he would have sent my father already. He would have told my brothers to answer my letters. I had already written to them five times. As I knelt to pray I could feel the Walrus’s heavy breath on my neck.
“I’m sorry to learn that your father behaved so terribly toward you,” Edouard says, interrupting my thoughts, and I’m in Paris again, not Leyde. I’m safe in Les Deux Magots. “I have some news that I hope will make you very happy. I’ve made contact with several men in Amsterdam. They will help us get your daughter, Jeanne Louise.”
My hands knock into my empty coffee cup and it shatters on the ground. “When? How?” A waiter hurries over to clean it up. Non. My tiny angel, Non. Or maybe not so tiny. She was six years old when I left her.
“The when remains to be seen. We must be patient. As for the how, we have verified that she is still in The Netherlands and still living with Rudolph MacLeod. My men are observing his daily routines and her daily habits. As I’ve told you, getting a child out of a foreign country requires a great deal of planning and coordination.”
“How does she look? How tall has she gotten?”
“I am happy to see you so excited, M’greet. You deserve to be happy. I will ask for photographs. In the meanwhile, as we wait, you must earn. I’ve secured you a contract here in the city to dance as Salome at the Odéon.”
“I danced Salome in Berlin. I thought I didn’t repeat performances?”
“Let’s agree that you never repeat the same performance in the same country. This is France. And the pay is extraordinary.”
“How much?”
“Seventy thousand francs.”