Into the Shadow
Whether Ada was blessed with an innate gentleness of spirit or simply lacked the capacity for deep thought, she let Miss Jennings’ warning slide off her shoulders without a second thought.
Meanwhile, ever since he had glimpsed the squalid tenements of downtown, Carlyle had been plagued by nightmares. In them he was a ragged child in the slums, begging barefoot through streets that stank of urine and despair.
On the days he dreamed them, the fear clawed so fiercely at his chest that he could scarcely breathe.
When he had lived in France, money had never once interested him. To him it was an infinite wellspring—something that would simply appear again whenever he needed it, like breath or sunlight.
Looking back now, the notion seemed the most foolish of illusions.
He had always known that no matter how generously one spent, the well would run dry eventually; even the simplest arithmetic should have taught him that truth.
“Ada,” he asked, voice small, “if our money ever runs out… if we grow poor, what happens then?”
Ada answered as though he had asked the most obvious question in the world.
“We’ll be cold, and hungry, and miserable, Master Carlyle. Please don’t ask such things, my dear boy. You’ll only make yourself uneasy. I don’t want to think about such things.”
Carlyle found it strange that his mother or Ada could simply refuse to see the problem and make it vanish.
How could one ignore a giant elephant standing in the middle of the room?
He wished something could be done before the situation grew any more desperate, but at ten years old there was so little he could do to help.
“Is it something that can simply be avoided?” he wondered aloud. “It doesn’t seem so. What happens if we sell Mama’s jewels and spend every penny? Will we end up living in the slums of downtown, in that filthy, reeking place?”
“Tell me the truth right now! If you don’t, I’ll have to tell Mother to fire you immediately.”
When Carlyle issued the ultimatum, Ada’s voice cracked with tears.
“Why are you so cruel to me alone, Master Carlyle? At your age, too many worries are not good for you. If we sell all the Viscountess’s jewels, we can still manage for another four or five years. Please stop asking these questions.”
She glanced away, avoiding his suspicious stare, and added hopefully, “The Viscountess is so beautiful. Something will happen by then. Perhaps she will remarry, or find a new patron.”
After that, Ethel began searching for new houses to view, an experience completely new to her.
“Miss Jennings, I know so little about these matters, but could you come with me? I’d be so grateful.”
“Oh dear. Whatever shall I do, madam? My head is simply aching dreadfully. I’m so sorry.”
Again and again Miss Jennings refused with the excuse of her headache.
Ethel found her arrogance maddening, yet because a governess was not a servant she could not compel the woman’s presence. In the end she took Ada and Carlyle with her on house-hunting expeditions.
On the day they signed the lease for a small townhouse on Park Avenue, Ethel wandered the grounds with quiet satisfaction, nodding her approval.
“Carlyle, there’s a fine boys’ academy nearby. What a pity, but Miss Jennings will have to go now. She was due to retire anyway, after all.”
She withdrew the jewel box from the hotel’s front-desk safe, sold her beloved sapphire ring, and used the proceeds to cover the deposit. The remaining balance she hid deep in the wardrobe of their hotel room.
It had been reckless.
The moment Ethel opened the wardrobe after signing the lease, she screamed and fainted. The jewel box was gone, and so was Miss Jennings.
She reported the matter to the police at once, but there was nothing they could do.
Ethel canceled the townhouse lease, yet received no refund of the deposit. The ordeal had left her weak and trembling, and it took a full month before she could rise again.
According to the police report, Miss Jennings had already boarded a steamer bound for South America.
Fortunately, when Ethel had gone out that morning she had taken several pieces of jewelry with her, and those remained. She sold them all and managed to secure a two-room apartment near Union Square.
“Ada, how long will Mama’s money last us? Tell me honestly.”
When Ada saw how Carlyle was trying so hard to appear steady, she buried her face in his apron and wept.
“Waaah… I don’t know either, Master Carlyle. Please stop asking me such difficult questions. What on earth am I going to do…?”
Carlyle no longer tried to threaten her with dismissal.
One of the qualities and duties he had learned in France was the sense of responsibility toward those in his charge. A good master, he had been told, kept his servants employed and well cared for, and never let them see his moods or temper.
With no power left to protect even one maid and a heavy burden of guilt in his heart, Carlyle lowered his head.
On the day they left the hotel and moved into the apartment, Ethel held out her gold ring to Ada along with a small sum of cash.
As the employer offering a parting gift to the maid who had assisted her through the move and remained loyal until the last moment.
“Ada, you have been wonderful. Stay here for now, at least, until I find you a new employer.”
The sight remained forever fixed in Carlyle’s memory as the last moment he had seen his mother as the Viscountess.
Instead of fading, Ada’s tears of “please don’t send me away” had somehow hardened into a fierce smile as she took the position of powder-room maid at the Broadway theatre after only a week. The wages were modest, yet tips made the place quite lucrative.
“Master Carlyle, when you become rich again someday, you must come fetch me. I hate hard work with a passion. I’m perfectly suited to being a talking maid, after all.”
“…See?”
Carlyle forced the words past the tight knot in his throat with great difficulty.
“Master Carlyle may be young, but he has a very sharp, ruthless side. When he grows up he will surely become rich. I believe that with all my heart! So promise me right now!”
Ada clenched her teeth and held back her tears while giving him an insult that was almost a farewell. She extracted the promise she wanted, then wept openly as she left them behind.
On the first night alone in the apartment, Ethel led the wide-eyed Carlyle to the crude wooden table that stood alone in the living room. The place was emptier than the rented cabin of a tenant farmer in his father’s estate.
She handed him a cup of warmed milk and spoke with great effort.
“Carlyle, your father sent word. I explained our situation… and asked for his help.”
He tried not to show how eagerly he waited for the next words.
At last they would be able to return home from this nightmare of a New York journey. His heart beat with hope and anticipation.
“Your father… says he will take you back. So if you wish, you may return to France.”
Something vital had been left unsaid in Ethel’s words.
Carlyle asked without hesitation.
“And Mother?”
When she looked away and moistened her dry lips, his stomach dropped.
“I… I don’t think I can come with you. Your father has agreed to take you only on condition that I… that I divorce him.”
The swell of hope crashed into despair in an instant. Carlyle stared at her.
After I leave, what will become of Mother…?
Her eyes were the same as they had been that day on the steamer railing, gazing out at the sea.
He stopped hesitating and spoke with sudden resolve.
“If I can’t go with Mother, then I’m not going either.”
He could not leave her alone. He had no idea what might happen to her. With no one else around, he was the only one who could protect her.
Since his father had agreed to take him in, he had comforted himself that he could always return whenever he chose, no matter how far off that time seemed.
Ethel looked at him with a complicated expression—relief and pain at once.
“There is one hopeful thing. I remembered that your grandfather placed ten thousand dollars in a trust for you when you were born. I’ve spoken to your father’s lawyer. The trust can be accessed the moment you turn twenty-one. Until then no one can touch it… but…”
He did not know what a trust was, yet a single townhouse on Park Avenue had cost twenty thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars could buy five such houses.
“We’ll manage somehow until then.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Yet eleven years felt infinitely longer than the years he had already lived. He would have to wait that long.
Carlyle prayed desperately that he would be able to go home before that time arrived.