City of Darkness and Light by Rhys Bowen Page B

sea.
    “I must send a telegram to my friends telling them which train I am taking,” I said to Miss Pinkerton, who was still standing beside me. “They promised to meet me at the station.”
    “Very well. Leave the luggage and your child here with me.” She turned to the porter. “Attendez ici. Elle va à la gare,” she said in an atrocious French accent.
    Off I went into the station. A train was standing at the platform, puffing smoke as if impatient to leave. I saw from the board that it would be departing in fifteen minutes. Everywhere there was commotion as porters flung baggage aboard and doors slammed. I decided that I was in no condition to rush and join that hubbub. I’d take the next train in an hour and a half. That would give me enough time to locate a telegraph office and send a telegram. As I made my way back I began to feel worse and worse. The ground still lurched as if I was at sea. My head started spinning. I could see Miss Pinkerton with Liam in her arms. He was wriggling and crying for me and she was looking as if she didn’t quite know what to do. I staggered toward them as the singing in my head grew louder and louder until suddenly the world went black.

 
    Eleven
     
    I came to, spluttering, as smelling salts were waved under my nose and saw a circle of people around me. Among the faces, I recognized Miss Pinkerton’s friends. Then I saw Liam’s frightened face in Miss Pinkerton’s arms.
    “What happened?” For a moment I couldn’t remember.
    “You fainted. Most dramatic. Went down like a tree,” Miss Hetherington said. She was kneeling beside me. It had been her smelling salts that had revived me and she now held her handkerchief to my forehead, where I had apparently struck it as I fell. “Nasty knock on the head too. That will need to be cleaned up.”
    “There’s a train in an hour and a half,” I said.
    “Sit here.” Miss Hetherington dragged me onto the bench and said, “Keep this handkerchief pressed to the cut. I don’t think you should be going anywhere in an hour and half. Utter folly.”
    “Quite right,” Miss Pinkerton agreed. “You are in no condition to travel to Paris today. Your son needs to see a doctor. You need to get that cut seen to and we don’t want you passing out again. We’ll find you a room in a hotel nearby and you can stay there until you are sufficiently recovered.”
    “But I’ll be all right if you can help me onto the train,” I protested. “You’ll be coming to Paris, won’t you?”
    “Actually not,” Miss Hetherington said. “Since three of us have been so affected by the crossing we decided we should recuperate here before embarking on a long train journey. We’ll take you to a pension with us. You can send a telegram to your friends explaining that you have been delayed. Now stay there. I will locate a vehicle for us.”
    And off she went, striding out toward the waiting line of carriages.
    I was too weak to resist because I knew in my heart that she was right. The ground still swayed and my head was now throbbing like billy-o. I thought I might be sick again. Liam whined and wanted to come to me.
    “Mommy is resting,” Miss Pinkerton said, holding onto him firmly. “She’ll be fine in a minute. Just be a good boy.”
    The women were wonderful. Although they only spoke a few words of French they managed with gestures and sheer determination to have us loaded into a large open carriage and taken to a pension on the waterfront. Miss Hetherington inspected the rooms and pronounced them clean if simple and unadorned. I was half dragged up the stairs. Someone else brought my bags and I was placed in a small room with shutters half closed. Already exhausted by this amount of activity, I lay back gratefully with Liam beside me. They then had the proprietor summon a doctor and gave me pen and paper to draft a telegram to Sid and Gus. I wrote, Delayed in Le Havre. Unwell. Pension Bellevue. Will travel as soon as able.
    Off went the