Amelia rolled onto her back and stared at the cracks in the ceiling, just visible in the gloom. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to duplicate the sound of the sea.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was back in the cottage, Jack asleep beside her, listening to the ebb and flow of the water crashing into the rocks below.
CHAPTER 5
Amelia wrinkled her nose at the crush of people aboard the steamer. Was there nowhere she could go where she was not surrounded by hordes?
Despite living in Barnum’s apartment for three weeks and taking regular excursions into the streets of New York City (accompanied always by Levi Lyman, who she suspected was following instructions from Barnum to not leave her alone), she was still not accustomed to the feeling of constantly having bodies all around her. Perfumed, sweating bodies, bodies that smelled like wet wool or pipe smoke or starched petticoats. There was never anywhere to get a breath of fresh air; it seemed to her very often that there wasn’t enough air to go around.
At least she could breathe in the sea from the ship deck, though that was nearly drowned out by the belching smoke coming from the belly of the contraption.
On either side of her stood Levi and Barnum, flanking her like the two burly constables she’d seen dragging an intoxicated man along Ann Street.
Neither Levi nor Barnum had touched her other than to offer an arm to assist boarding, but she had the distinct feeling neither of them would hesitate to grab her if it seemed she might slip away.
Though Levi’s reasons are different from Barnum’s, she admitted. Amelia had not failed to notice the looks Levi gave when he thought she wasn’t looking. He had stardust in his eyes, and Amelia was sorry for it.
He had not expressed this feeling in any way, which was a relief. There could be no good outcome from such a thing, not when her heart was still full of Jack. And she could use an ally against Barnum, who would press for every advantage.
Beside her, Barnum scowled as he stared over the railing. He’d been strongly vocal against what he called “this tomfoolery.”
Privately Levi told her that Barnum probably objected to the expense of going to Rhode Island. He loved to make money, but he despised spending it on things he couldn’t see immediately profited. But Amelia had been adamant that she needed a secluded beach and nightfall for a mermaid demonstration, and it was faster to take the ship to Providence than it was to cross to New Jersey and take a train to the coast. There was nothing like privacy on the island of Manhattan. She wasn’t about to change on a crowded beach in daylight. This first time she wanted only Levi and Barnum to see her; she wasn’t ready for the world yet.
All of this necessitated staying in a hotel overnight. Amelia already knew that Barnum was terribly tightfisted with his personal expenses. Almost all the money that came into the museum was put by for the museum—either to pay off the loan Barnum had taken out for its purchase or to invest in new acquisitions to exhibit. Charity spent an inordinate amount of time carefully mending her and the children’s clothing. Amelia, accustomed to thrift, saw no shame in this, but Charity clearly felt it was something to hide. People of her station did not mend their own clothes.
Amelia had been unable to hide her embarrassment when Barnum presented her with a new trunk of dresses in Charity’s presence. The look on Charity’s face as Amelia opened the box . . . the mermaid had never seen such hurt, or such longing.
Amelia immediately tried to refuse the garments. She did not want to start her relationship with Barnum owing him anything, and anyway he ought to save such gestures for his wife.
He was quite insistent that she needed to dress presentably, that she owned nothing adequate to need, and “Charity is too fat to wear any of these,” he’d said, and laughed.
His wife’s cheeks had reddened, but she hadn’t spoken a word. Amelia wished she would show some spirit, but she knew Charity would not thank her for saying so.
Amelia rather liked Charity, though the woman continued to view her with suspicious reserve. The mermaid knew Barnum’s wife thought her a trickster, someone out to take advantage of Barnum. There was really nothing more ridiculous than the thought of Barnum getting taken; if there was any taking to do, Amelia knew very well that he would be the one to do it.
She did not like the way he treated his wife and children at all, however. He wasn’t often with them, showed scant affection to his daughters, and actively mocked Charity when others were in earshot.
It hardened Amelia’s initial impression of a man out to get what he could only for himself, with no concern for anyone but the paying public.
Even without Charity’s humiliation Amelia would have gladly sent away the trunk of clothing. Inside it were things Amelia had never worn before but was now expected to—dresses that required corsets and petticoats (sometimes five or six at a time), bonnets with such deep brims that Amelia often couldn’t see someone standing at her shoulder, capes, black lace mitts that did not warm the hands but were supposed to be flirtatious and fashionable.
Women generally carried a parasol whenever they were outdoors; Amelia felt so foolish holding it up against the sun that it often wound up banging uselessly against her hip.
The first time she saw herself in a mirror with all the requisite geegaws and her hair parted in the middle and pulled into a bun, she’d been unable to stop herself from crying.
Charity, who’d helped her into all the clothing and expected Amelia to be as thrilled as she would be had asked, “Whatever is the matter?”
Amelia, forgetting that truth was not preferred by polite people, blurted, “I look like a human.”
When Charity cautiously asked what she expected to look like, Amelia dried her face and exclaimed (in a patently false voice) that she’d never had such lovely things before.
She hated it all, every string and ruffle and bit of lace. The greatest relief of her day was unwinding the many required layers, removing her corset, and loosening her hair.
She took to lying on her bed, fully naked atop the coverlet, convinced that her garments would slowly kill her if her skin was not allowed to breathe.
The awkwardness of the skirts was exacerbated in large crowds like the ones on the ferry. Women’s dresses were always bumping into other women’s dresses and brushing against men’s trouser legs. Amelia imagined a whole universe of polite “excuse me”s occurring at ankle level.
Levi also frowned at the water as Barnum did. The two of them were a matched pair with Amelia in the center. Amelia suspected, though, that Levi’s distress was related to the forthcoming revelation. She knew Levi believed the truth—that she was a mermaid. It wasn’t anything explicit he’d said to her or even a change in his manner; rather, it manifested in the way he spoke to Barnum about her.
This was apparent when she’d repeated to Barnum the week before that she would not appear onstage without a demonstration.
“Demonstration of what?” he’d asked.
“Of my abilities,” Amelia said patiently. “You should know precisely what I am before you show me to all and sundry.”
It was vital that Barnum know this wasn’t a “humbug,” as he called it. She needed salt water and not fresh in the tank or she wouldn’t change. The only way to convince him to take on the extra trouble and expense of salt water was to show him that she needed it.