A man dressed as a toreador came magically from behind a red velvet curtain, and there was a woman sitting upon his shoulders, her arms about his neck, her black silken shiny knees thrust forward, skirts back, his hands clutching her ankles as together they cavorted among the other wildly kicking dancers. The woman, her hair a red as flaming as Lizzie’s, her mouth painted a deeper scarlet, suddenly — and again as if by magic — reversed her perch on the man’s shoulders so that now she faced him, her midnight knees pressed against the sides of his neck, her ankles locked on his back, and hurled herself backward and away from him, arms akimbo, tufted red hair showing in her armpits, the small of her back caught in his hands as upside down he twirled her about the floor, her head hovering above his knees someplace, the garish inverted smile, her red hair sweeping the floor.
The other dancers assumed even more immodest positions, sitting on the floor and spreading their legs wide, whistling and shrieking in an exhibition of rank indecency that provoked more shouting and cheers from the audience. Another man was on the dance floor now — Lizzie could not tell whether he was employed here or was merely a customer who’d succumbed to the frenzy of the moment — waggling his legs in their loose trousers, wriggling about like a snake. One of the women reached for the front of his trousers and he darted away in mock outrage, to be pursued by several of the other dancers who, when they had him surrounded, kicked their legs up over his head repeatedly until, seemingly overcome by the sight of their flashing gartered limbs and the open revelation of their lacy underthings, he fell to the floor in a dead swoon.
Giggling, the dancers stepped over him and, legs akimbo over his prostrate form, flounced their skirts above him until his eyes flickered open and rolled about in his head as though the perfume emanating from between their powdered thighs had revived him. He slithered along the floor on his back, his eyes popping open wide now (surely he was one of the performers) and leaped to his feet again, spanning a dancer’s waist with his huge hands, lifting her high above his head, and parading her about the room while she opened her legs as wide as seemed humanly possible.
Hardly a man was seated now. They packed round the dance floor four and five deep, applauding whenever one of the women assumed another attitude of shameless immodesty, shouting for drinks, thronging onto the floor to dance with female companions who’d been circulating in the balconies throughout the course of the riotous display. There were more raucous calls, cries in French and English and languages Lizzie could not identify, until finally the floor was cleared again for the final quadrille, during which the cavorting women seemed to abandon whatever shred of modesty had previously restrained their contortions. When at last they left the place (“It’s called the Moulin Rouge,” Alison said to her on the street outside), Lizzie felt shaken to the core. Her hand was trembling on Albert’s arm as she accepted his assistance into the carriage.
“So now,” he said in his dry English way, “you’ve seen the demi-monde of Paris.”
8: New Bedford — 1893
“What is your full name?”
“Bridget Sullivan.”
“And were you in the Borden household sometimes called Maggie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“By whom were you called Maggie? By the whole family?”
“No, sir.”
“By whom?”
“By Lizzie and Emma.”
“By Miss Emma and Miss Lizzie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But that was not unpleasant to you?”
“No, sir, it was not.”
“Not at all offensive?”
“No, sir.”
“Did not cause any ill feeling or trouble?”
“No, sir.”
“Did Mr. and Mrs. Borden call you by some other name?”
“Yes, sir. Called me by my own, right name.”
“Won’t you be kind enough to tell us how old you are, Miss Sullivan?”
“Twenty-six years old.”
“I believe you’ve never been married.”
“No, sir.”
“How long have you been in this country?”
“Six years last May... seven years last May.”
“And where were you born?”
“In Ireland.”
“And came here seven years ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Came to what part of this country?”
“I came to Newport.”
“Newport, Rhode Island?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you have any folks here when you came here?”
“No, sir.”
“Father, mother, brother or sisters?”
“No, sir.”
“And have you any here now?”
“No, sir. I ain’t got no folks here, no more than relations.”
“When you went to Newport, did you stay there quite a while?”
“Twelve months.”
“And from Newport, where did you go?”
“I went out to South Bethlehem.”
“That was in Pennsylvania?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did you come to Fall River?”
“I came there four years — I was two years out when I came to Fall River. Two years in America, when I came to Fall River.”
“Did you go to the Bordens the first place in Fall River?”
“No, sir, I went to Mrs. Reed.”
“When did you go to work for Mr. Borden?”
... I was there two years and nine months at the time of his death. There wasn’t any other domestic servant there while I was there. There was a man on the farm who used to come there and do chores, and go back again. His first name was Alfred. I don’t know his last name, I never asked him. My general duties in the household were washing, ironing and cooking, with sweeping. I had no care of any of the chambers except my own. I slept in the third story of the house, right over Mr. Borden’s room, which is right over the kitchen. I don’t know who did the chamber work in Mr. Borden’s room and Mrs. Borden’s room. Themselves did it. I don’t know which of them. I didn’t do it, and neither of the daughters did it.
I don’t know who took charge of the room in the front part of the house, either. When Miss Emma was home, she done it. When Mr. Morse was there, and when Mrs. Borden had any of her friends there, I guess she done it, or helped do it. That is, as far as I can remember. The rooms belonging to the daughters, themselves took care of them, as far as I know. I didn’t have anything to do with the rooms, nothing of any kind to do with any bedroom.
I never had any trouble there in the family. I liked the place. As far as I know, they liked me, too. I never saw anything out of the way. Never saw any conflict in the family. Never saw any quarreling or anything of that kind. Miss Lizzie always spoke to Mrs. Borden when Mrs. Borden talked to her. There was not, so far as I know, any trouble that morning of the fourth. I did not see any trouble with the family.
I felt kind of a dull headache as I got up that morning. I got up at a quarter past six. I have a timepiece in my room, a clock, one of them little round clocks. I didn’t look at the clock in my room, but I looked when I came down to the kitchen. There’s a clock there. It was a quarter past six when I came down. I went downcellar then, and brought up some wood to start my fire, went down and got some coal. Brought that up in the coal hod. Then I unlocked the door, and took in the milk can, and put a pan out for the iceman and a pitcher with some water in it. The locks were just the same way as I’d left them the night before. After I’d taken in my milk and put out my pan for the iceman, I hooked the screen door, left the panel door open.
Before anyone came downstairs, I started my work around the kitchen, getting ready for breakfast. I had clothes on the clotheshorse, I suppose I took them down, as I generally did. Mrs. Borden was the first one appeared on that Thursday morning. I was in the kitchen, and she came through the back entry, downstairs from her bedroom. After she came down, she gave me directions for breakfast. Might have been twenty minutes of seven, or half past six. I can’t tell the time, for I never noticed it. Mr. Borden came downstairs, down the back stairway from his bedroom, no more than five minutes later, I don’t think. He went into the sitting room and put a key on the shelf there. The key of his bedroom door. He ordinarily kept that in the sitting room, on the shelf. Then he came out into the kitchen, put a dressing coat on, as far as I think, and went outdoors. Took his slop pail outdoors. He emptied the slop pail and unlocked the barn, and went into the barn. Then he went to the yard where the pear tree was, and brought in a basket of pears that he picked off the ground. I can’t say whether he hooked the screen door or not. He washed up in the kitchen and got ready for breakfast. Up to that time, I hadn’t seen anyone but Mr. and Mrs. Borden. Not until I put the breakfast on the table and Mr. Morse sat down to breakfast.