Madame considered. “There are the rooms already reserved. Five rooms. For nine girls. And an attic. But you cannot expect the laundry—and the meals—”
“We expect only a place to sleep. And we won’t be here long. Just a week or so until we move on.” Kate turned back to Emmie. “There’s an attic.”
“An attic?” Maud’s hearing was remarkably acute when her comfort was at issue. “I’m not sleeping in an attic!”
“You can have one of the rooms.” Kate was too tired to fight with anyone. “But don’t expect anyone to make your bed for you.”
“Liza and I will share,” declared Maud in tones of great self-sacrifice.
“There is only one bed,” Madame warned. At this point, she seemed to be rather enjoying herself.
“I don’t mind lumping it, do you, Maud?” said Liza. “I promise not to hog the covers.”
“I don’t care where I sleep so long as no one starts swabbing around me at three in the morning,” said Miss Cooper bravely.
Behind them, a policeman wrestled with the gas jet of a streetlamp. The light went out, plunging the street into total darkness.
“Inside,” said Madame with a sideways glance at the police officer. There had been signs all over the train station warning them to observe the blackout, to keep silent, to guard their words because the enemy might be listening. “Quick now. Who will have a room?”
“Mrs. Rutherford should have a room.” Emmie immediately took on the role of hostess, working out the sleeping arrangements as though this were a party at the family cottage in Newport. She looked at her cousin. “And perhaps the doctors could share?”
It was just like Julia to get one of the rooms with a real bed, thought Kate. Although the thought of Julia having to share a bed with Dr. Stringfellow did rather lighten her mood somewhat. Maybe the doctor snored.
Kate was aware that this was not entirely the spirit of fellowship she ought to be cultivating.
“I’m for the attic,” said Kate, not waiting to hear any more. “Who’s with me?”
As attics went, it could have been worse. The room was a large one on the top floor, one side taken up by French windows that opened onto a long and narrow balcony edged with a decorative iron railing. It might even have been pretty—the windows looked out over the Seine, or would have, if it hadn’t been too dark to see—but dark curtains had been hung haphazardly over the windows.
Madame wrenched them closed before lighting an oil lamp with an elaborate glass shade. “No light. It is not allow.” She spoke in English for the benefit of the others but couldn’t resist adding, “Les boches.”
In the lamplight, Kate could see a sewing machine, a dressmaker’s dummy, and some rather battered side tables that appeared to have been exiled from the lower rooms. The one thing the room lacked was any sort of sleeping surface. The eight members of the Unit who had elected to share the garret stood there, in the center of the room, their coats still on, staring around them in despair. At least on the boat, the deck chairs had been broad enough to serve as beds.
Emmie bent over, shaking, weird snorting noises coming from between her fingers.
“Emmie?” Kate put a hand tentatively on her arm.
Emmie lifted her head, her eyes streaming, laughter coming out in great, undisciplined gasps. “Oh, Kate! A garret! What could possibly be more French than a garret! I feel like La Dame aux Camélias and Mimi and all the cast of La Bohème rolled into one!”
Kate grinned reluctantly. “This is far too nice a garret for that sort of thing. We need a few more holes in the roof, at least.”
“A garret is a garret,” said Emmie, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I refuse to be balked of my garret.”
Miss Englund gave them a look of resigned toleration and began moving the furniture about to make room for pallets.
Unbuttoning her jacket, Kate went to help her. “Please promise me you won’t start writing bad poetry and contract consumption?”
“I’m certainly not going to promise good poetry,” said Emmie, joining Kate in shifting the dressmaker’s dummy to a corner of the room. “What are we to sleep on until our cots arrive?”
“Our coats, I imagine,” said Kate. “I’d try to cadge some pillows from Madame, but I’m not sure we can push her any further. She’s already feeling ill-used.”
Emmie carefully straightened the dummy, lowering her voice so only Kate could hear. “What were they thinking to only reserve for nine?”