“I sent it along to my home by cab. I can devote all my attention to you ladies.” He smiled broadly.
“Ah, I see. That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he assured her.
How nice he was. Isabel wasn’t accustomed to men being nice to her. She told herself not to get used to it, because it wouldn’t last any longer than it would take a wagon to get them all to Loretta’s house.
“And now,” Somerset said, briskly rubbing his hands, “I’ll go and hire a taxicab to take us all to Miss Linden’s house.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. FitzRoy,” said Loretta, beaming. Her gaze greedily took in the railroad station, churning with people and raucous with noise. “It’s so good to be home again.”
Isabel’s heart, which had been aching terribly, eased and softened a little as she watched Loretta. It was nice to know at least one of them was glad to be in San Francisco. Loretta was home. Isabel hoped she and Eunice would feel at home again someday, somewhere. A glance at Marjorie, white and gaunt, told her that Marjorie, too, was worried—as well she might be, although at least she had only herself to worry about.
Somerset took himself off, his step jaunty. Eyeing him critically, Isabel decided he truly was quite a well set-up young man, even if he was a botanist and not something more . . . well . . . masculine. His profession didn’t matter one little bit. Besides, it wasn’t only her gratitude that had raised him to the stature of a saint in her life; he was a genuinely good man. Good-looking, good-natured and kind, as well, qualities that she had come to value greatly since her experience with Eunice’s father, whose good looks had gone only skin deep. Inside, he’d been a rat.
And Somerset FitzRoy was writing a book about plants. Fancy that. Isabel couldn’t imagine writing a book about plants. She could feature writing a novel if she ever had the leisure, but a book about plants? Although she hated to admit it to herself, since it seemed a betrayal of her hero, Isabel, who could recognize a cabbage growing in a garden when she saw one, couldn’t think of too many subjects more boring than plants. Somerset himself wasn’t boring, true, but . . .
She decided not to think about that, either. She had plenty enough important thinking to do; she shouldn’t waste time on irrelevancies.
A heavy sigh escaped her. What she really wished was that she could stop reflecting about her past. It was dead and gone. And good riddance to it. She was better off here, in America, where nobody knew her story. Eunice was better off here, too, where no one could hold the accident of her birth against her. As if anything was Eunice’s fault.
A sudden sob caught her by surprise, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Instantly, Loretta’s avid expression turned into one of concern, and she rushed to put her arms around Isabel. “It will be all right, dear,” Loretta said soothingly. “Everything will be all right.”
Feeling like a bloody—blooming—idiot, Isabel nodded, swallowed another sob, and tried to smile. “I know it will. Thank you. I didn’t mean to be stupid.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Isabel Golightly. You’ve endured terrible horrors, and you’ve done a brave thing in coming to a new country. You must be frightfully confused and lonely, and you deserve to cry all the tears you have in you. But you needn’t do it alone. We’ll face your new life together.” Loretta glanced at Eunice and smiled. “Won’t we, Eunice?”
The little girl nodded gravely. “Yes. Thank you, Miss Linden. If you and Mr. FitzRoy hadn’t helped us, we’d jolly well be in the suds.”
Both Isabel and Loretta laughed, Isabel rather moistly, Loretta as if she were having to force her good humor. “In the suds, indeed,” said Eunice’s mother as she furtively wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “And that’s the God’s honest truth.”
She gave Loretta one last hug and released her, wishing she’d kept better control over her feelings. She couldn’t afford to be emotional. She was poor, for the love of God. Poor people weren’t even supposed to have emotions—for good reason, since they were seldom allowed to express them.
She heard a suspicious sniffling noise and turned to see Marjorie MacTavish blowing her nose. That made her feel better in an odd way. At least she wasn’t the only one worried about beginning a new life so far away from home.
Somerset trotted up to them a few minutes later, smiling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Isabel envied him. “All set, ladies. Please allow me to carry your baggage—”
“Such as it is,” interrupted Loretta.
“Such as it is,” agreed Somerset. “And I’ll guide you to the cab.”
Isabel, once again taking Eunice’s hand, followed Somerset, glad that Loretta and he could joke about their circumstances.
She and Eunice stopped dead still in the middle of the milling throng when they saw the taxicab towards which Somerset was leading them.
“I believe that cab has no horse, Mama,” Eunice breathed. “It is propelled by an infernal combustion engine.”
“Internal, sweetie.” Then Isabel took note of the machine chugging noisily at the curb in front of the train station, and she made an effort to close her gaping mouth.
This, she reminded herself, was America. It was San Francisco, a city even Oscar Wilde had deemed outrageous. She ought to have anticipated that horseless carriages would be in vogue here, where people were so eager to fasten onto new ideas. It was 1912, after all, and the fact that she’d seldom even seen such a vehicle, much less ridden in one, only emphasized the fact that she was unworldly. In some ways.
“My goodness,” she said, striving to keep her voice steady. “It is a horseless carriage.”
“Here we go.” Somerset waved to them, urging them forward. Obviously, he thought there was nothing strange or unusual about riding in an automobile.
Not wanting to be perceived by him as unsophisticated, Isabel hurried the two of them forward. Eunice needed no prompting. After she’d come to grips with her shock, she all but dragged her mother the last several yards, so eager was she to experience the novel and innovative means of transportation.
“I probably should have wired my housekeeper,” said Loretta, nibbling a gloved fingernail as she waited for Somerset to toss the luggage into the cab’s rumble seat. “She could have met us here. But she hates driving the motorcar.” She cast a critical eye over her three new friends and Somerset. “Anyhow, I don’t think my own machine could hold us all.”
“You have a motorcar, Miss Linden?” Eunice whispered, awed, gaping at her hostess.
Isabel clamped her jaws together so that her mouth wouldn’t drop open again, and didn’t speak.
“I certainly do,” said Loretta. “It’s much the best way to get around in the city.” Then she laughed, as if at her own pretensions. “That’s not really true. San Francisco has a wonderful cable car system, and it’s almost all back up and running. Many of the lines were damaged during the 1906 quake. Truth to tell, I just wanted an automobile. It’s my one indulgence.”
“Ah,” Isabel managed to say. Her last indulgence had been the purchase of a bar of lavender-scented soap, and she’d had to think long and hard before spending the money for that.
“I’ve never ridden in one of these before,” Marjorie said. She sounded stunned. When Isabel glanced at her, Marjorie looked stunned, too. Again, Isabel took an odd sort of comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only adult woman around who was finding San Francisco a strange place.
With a dramatic bow, Somerset opened the door and ushered the ladies into the tonneau of the cab. Eunice had to sit on Isabel’s lap, and Somerset rode up front with the driver. Loretta gave him the direction and, with a tremendous growl, the machine rumbled into traffic. Isabel and Marjorie gasped and Isabel’s arms tightened around Eunice, who stared at the passing scenery with fascination untainted by fear.
The trip wasn’t too alarming. There were certainly a lot of people in San Francisco but overall, the streets seemed less crowded than those of Upper Poppleton. Perhaps that was because t
here weren’t so many people walking and there were many fewer horses and wagons. So many people, even those who appeared to number among the working classes, were in motorized vehicles or cable cars. Eunice squealed with delight, sounding almost like a normal six-year-old, when she saw her first cable car.
“Look, Mama! Those people are hanging onto the poles! They aren’t even sitting down. I want to do that!”
Loretta laughed.
A sense of desperation nibbled at Isabel’s self-confidence. She felt as if she was losing control of everything. “I don’t know, dearie. I think we’d best sit down if we ever ride on one of those things.”
“They aren’t really dangerous,” Loretta said.
Somerset turned around, slung his arm over the back of his seat, and grinned at Eunice. “I’ll take you for a ride on a cable car, Miss Eunice. You’ll like it. I promise. And I won’t let you fall out of the car.” He winked at Isabel, who blinked, startled, unused to being winked at by gentlemen. The winks she was accustomed to receiving were from men who thought they understood her moral fiber, and who learned their mistake sometimes painfully.
“Oh, I’d like that, Mr. FitzRoy,” Eunice exclaimed in delight. “I think San Francisco is bully!”
Chuckling, Somerset turned toward the front of the cab again. “It’s bully all right. It’s a great place.”
So was Loretta’s neighborhood. Loretta grew more chatty as the cab drew closer to Lombard Street. Isabel and Eunice, on the other hand, grew more silent.
Eunice scrunched closer to her mother and whispered in her ear, “I’ve never seen so many big houses, Mama.”
“Nor have I,” Isabel whispered back.
“Do you think Miss Linden lives around here?”
“I don’t know, sweetie.” She cast a quick glance at Loretta and Marjorie, glad to see them both staring at the city from the other side of the cab. Isabel knew it was impolite to whisper. So did Eunice. But since she figured Eunice was suffering from the same sense of intimidation that had begun tormenting her, she didn’t scold her daughter.
Rather, she decided to put on a show of bravery for Eunice’s sake and courageously asked a question. “Is your home nearby, Loretta?” She was proud that her voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence.
“Yes,” Loretta said happily. “We’re almost there. I can’t wait to get home. I loved my stop in England, but there’s no place like home.”
Right. There was no place like home for Isabel, either, and this wasn’t it. It wasn’t even close.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Loretta said, suddenly stricken. “That was thoughtless of me. I know you three are from Great Britain, and this is very far away from your own homes, but I promise that I’ll try to make you feel as though you belong here.”
Fat chance of that, if this was Loretta’s neighborhood. Isabel hadn’t even worked in homes this grand back in Upper Poppleton. “Please don’t think you were thoughtless, because nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“Indeed,” muttered Marjorie. “You’ve been the saving of all of us.”
“Fiddlesticks.”
But Loretta was pleased by the tribute; Isabel could tell. And she didn’t begrudge her a sense of satisfaction, either. If Isabel could, she’d rescue the whole world. Right now she’d be happy if she could just provide a decent life for her daughter. And herself, of course.
Somerset again turned to speak to the ladies in the tonneau. “My own home is just over the hill there.” He pointed. “You can’t see it from here, and it’s nowhere near as grand as these houses, but it’s mine, I built it just the way I wanted it, and I’m fond of it. I have a wonderful garden. It’s full of plants native to California. I hope you’ll come over and inspect it one of these days, Miss Eunice. And you, Mrs. Golightly. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“Yes. I’m sure we’d both enjoy that,” Isabel mumbled. She hadn’t been paying attention, although she thought he was talking about plants again. She couldn’t quite grasp anyone having a garden containing anything other than vegetables necessary for sustaining life, but perhaps Mr. FitzRoy was able to buy his food.
“And you, too, ladies.” Somerset nodded at Loretta and Marjorie.
Marjorie looked at him blankly for a second. “Oh,” she said. “Yes. Thank you.”
Isabel would have bet that Marjorie had no better idea than Isabel herself as to what she’d just agreed to. Marjorie seemed bewildered at the moment. Isabel felt sorry for her, which made her feel more hopeful about her own uncertain future.
Somerset went on, “I’ll have to host a garden party and invite people from the newspaper. You need to meet people in your new city.”
Good heavens. “How nice,” Isabel murmured. If there was anything she wanted to attend less than a garden party, she couldn’t think of what it could be. Anyhow, she wouldn’t know how to behave, since she was unused to being a guest. She’s probably pick up the platters, start serving the other guests, and embarrass herself.
“I should like to meet some of the Chronicle people, Mr. FitzRoy,” Loretta said eagerly. “And see your garden, too, of course.”
If she, Isabel Golightly, had said such a thing to a man who was nearly a stranger, she’d have been totally embarrassed for having been bold and brassy. The comment didn’t sound at all out of place coming from the enthusiastic and progressive Loretta Linden. Isabel sighed. How long would it take her to get used to American manners? Perhaps she never would. Now there was a discouraging notion.
“Are those tall trees we saw when the train went through the forest native to California, Mr. FitzRoy?” Eunice. Of course.
“Indeed, they are, Miss Eunice. They’re California redwood trees, and they’re the tallest trees in the world, according to current understanding.”
“My goodness,” Eunice said, impressed. “Things in general seem to be very ‘normous in America.”
He laughed. “I suppose they might seem that way.”
“America itself is very ‘normous,” mused Eunice. “Ever so much larger than Great Britain. I didn’t think the train would ever get here.”
“Mercy, nor did I,” Marjorie said under her breath.
Loretta, who had been closely scrutinizing her fellow passengers, suddenly reached out and touched Somerset’s arm, which he’d slung over the seat back again. “Mr. FitzRoy, are you interested in landscape design?”
Mr. FitzRoy seemed startled. “Landscape design? Why . . . yes, I am. Actually, that’s one of my business interests. I designed my own home garden, and I’ve helped my sister and her husband plan out a wonderful garden on their property. I’ve also designed gardens for several others, and have been hired by the City of San Francisco to help with renovations on Golden Gate Park. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been wanting to consult with someone who knows something about landscape design ever since I bought my home from my aunt. It’s huge, and the grounds are huge, and I’m hopeless when it comes to gardening and plants and so forth.”
A huge smile bloomed on Somerset’s face. “I’d be more than happy to assist you, Miss Linden.”
It might have been Isabel’s imagination, but she could have sworn Somerset glanced at her before declaring his gratification with Loretta’s question.
He withdrew his wallet and was pulling out money to pay the driver, when Loretta stopped him. “I’ll take care of this, Mr. FitzRoy. After all, you’re only trying to help us. You shouldn’t be put to the expense of delivering us.”
“But . . .”
There were no “buts” in Loretta Linden’s life. Somerset obviously didn’t it, but she withdrew a wad of bills, and he replaced his wallet with a sigh. Isabel thought how nice it would be if she were so rich she could afford to transport her friends all over town.
But that was silly thinking. She would make her way here in this new land. Indeed, she had a good start, what with Loretta’s help and all. Why, she and Eunice had friends here already, and that was a big
step in the right direction. Certainly life here couldn’t be any more complicated than life had been in Upper Poppleton.
“Look!” Loretta cried suddenly. “There it is! Home, sweet home.”
Isabel’s mouth fell open before she could stop it.
Eunice’s eyes opened wide.
Marjorie gasped, “Och!”
“That’s your house?” Somerset’s voice held awe.
“That’s it,” Loretta said happily.
Isabel shut her mouth and gulped.
Eunice said, “Um . . . it’s quite big, isn’t it?”
“I’d say so,” Somerset agreed dryly.
Loretta only laughed.
Isabel stared at Loretta’s beautiful, daunting mansion; glanced at her own daughter, who deserved the best education money could by even though Isabel didn’t have any; and at the horseless carriage in which she’d been transported to her new lodgings; and Somerset FitzRoy, the good angel of her entire life even though he was absolutely fascinated by plants, of all the tedious fields of study in the universe; and she decided America would take some getting used to.
Chapter Five
Somerset gazed through the isinglass side window of the cab and up into the blue, blue sky, miraculously unmarred by fog or smoke on this, the day of his homecoming. He took in the unique scent of the city he loved, and decided he was glad to be in San Francisco again, even if Loretta Linden had slightly unmanned him by insisting she pay the cabbie.
It was particularly pleasant to be here with his two new and charming acquaintances, Isabel and Eunice Golightly. He’d wager they’d never even seen, much less lived in, a neighborhood like this before.
As the cab chugged through the massive iron gates and putted up the long drive to Loretta Linden’s house on Russian Hill, Somerset realized that the word house didn’t do the structure justice. In reality, her home was a mansion of impressive proportions. He couldn’t help but wonder why a woman as young as Loretta had bought so large a home.
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