Levi called the hotel manager, and the man was removed with much fuss and bother, as he had lowered himself down in a kind of rope seat but apparently lacked the strength to pull himself up again. A crowd of onlookers gathered below, clogging up the already busy intersection. Several of the hotel staff were forced to help drag the man up to the roof in a kind of tug-of-war.
This man was later to be the butt of many of his colleagues’ jokes when a drawing of him dangling like a spider appeared on the front page of his own newspaper. He’d been the biggest news story that day, and his own publication couldn’t miss the chance he’d presented. While he hadn’t gotten any quote from “Lady Amelia,” he did tell the thrilling eyewitness tale of having seen her at her window in a white dressing gown.
The newspaper was able to make hay of this again when a number of scandalized letters were written impugning the reporter for daring to look upon a lady in her private clothes, and worse for writing about it.
The scandal bumped the paper’s numbers for several days, which had the unfortunate effect of encouraging the remaining pool of reporters to similar feats. It seemed they had nothing better to do during the lull between Amelia’s Concert Hall appearances and her opening at the museum.
Thus the need for more guards, though Amelia did not fool herself that it was all for her benefit. Barnum didn’t want his prize to fly away.
Levi seemed overconscious of the presence of the man at the door while asking if he could speak to her. Amelia thought it was likely the man didn’t care in the least what Levi was about but that he would probably report the incident to Barnum.
Barnum at first had seemed amused by Levi’s interest in her (Levi, of course, appeared unaware that anyone but he knew of his feelings), but Barnum now seemed to find it personally insulting. He relied on Levi much more than he would admit, and it clearly troubled him that Levi never seemed to see things his way any longer.
Amelia nodded and let Levi into her rooms. She did not invite him to sit, but she did remove her bonnet, breathing a small sigh of relief as she pushed it off her head.
She didn’t know what she hated more, the bonnet or the petticoat. Both of them scratched at her and kept her from moving about as she wished—the bonnet by restricting her sight and the petticoat by restricting her walk. One could not run in a petticoat (though Charity had informed her that women of good breeding did not run in any case).
She placed the bonnet on one of the many small tables and immediately began unbinding the braids that were tied in a bun at the back of her neck. She’d never bound her hair for Jack, and she despised the expectation that she should now.
Levi watched her in obvious fascination as she loosed each bit of hair. It was apparent he’d forgotten why he’d asked to come into her room in the first place.
“You wished to speak to me, Mr. Lyman?” she asked.
He shook his head, and when he looked at her again, the spell was broken.
“I wished to apologize for what Barnum said to you earlier. The implication that you were an, er, unclean woman,” Levi said.
“He didn’t imply I was unclean. He said I was a prostitute,” Amelia said. “And I don’t see why you should have to apologize for his behavior. Mr. Barnum should apologize for himself.”
“Barnum doesn’t know how to say he’s sorry,” Levi muttered.
“That’s because he never is sorry,” Amelia said.
“Still, he insulted you, and someone ought to apologize for that, even if it didn’t seem to bother you,” Levi said, looking at the ground.
He seemed very young in that moment, a little boy trying to make things right but not knowing how. She felt a sudden swell of affection for him—this man who had struggled to make things better for her, this man who wanted something from her that he would never ask for.
She went to him and took his hand. He glanced up in surprise, for Amelia was always careful to keep physical distance between them.
“It did bother me,” she said. “I never saw a prostitute until I came to this city, but I know what it means now. I know Barnum meant to insult me, that he lashed out because he couldn’t have his way. And I know that you feel that insult on my behalf. I haven’t said this to you as much as I should have, Levi, but I thank you. Thank you for what you have done for me.”
She saw the conflict in his eyes—the quiet pleasure at her words and then the impulse to press his advantage, to ask her for more.
She was surprised by the sudden spark she felt, the answering impulse to lean into him. That feeling had her loosening his hand, stepping back, running her hand over her hair in a nervous gesture that was entirely unlike her.
Levi cleared his throat. He had a habit of doing this when he was uncomfortable. It had irritated her at first, but now she found it endearing. That was worrisome, too. She should not find his silly habits endearing.
He seemed to be casting about for something to say in response to her thanks. She could almost see the words on his tongue, considered, and then swallowed.
Finally he said, “I always wish to be of any possible assistance to you, Mrs. Douglas.”
Mrs. Douglas. She was always Mrs. Douglas when he was most afraid of her being Amelia. He gave her a little bow and left the room.
Amelia blew out all the air in her lungs and plunked herself into one of the delicate chairs in the sitting room. For a moment she’d felt something like desire toward Levi, but she couldn’t feel that, could she? Because if she did it meant that she was betraying Jack, and she couldn’t do that. She was his wife even if the sea had taken him from her.
But he had been gone so long. So very, very long, and when she tried to remember his face and the touch of his hand, it was mixed up with Levi’s, and she could not recall Jack’s voice at all.
She felt the bitterness of her choice then; she’d chosen to leave Jack’s home, and in doing so she’d left his memory behind. No matter what she did now, he would fade more and more, until all she had left of him was his name even if she never did love another.
Love another? Did she even want to? If she loved Levi, what would happen?
“He will die,” she said aloud.
Yes, he would die. He would die and she would go on living, on and on and on alone, and then all she would have left of him, too, would be his name.
It might never come to that, she reflected. Amelia would leave New York when her contract with Barnum was over. She knew Barnum hoped she would change her mind, that he could convince her otherwise, but she would leave. There were only so many hours she intended to spend inside his tank.
She would leave and Levi would stay, for he was unlikely to trail around after her while she traveled the world—though traveling the world had lost some of its shine for her, too. If she went to any of the great cities of the world, places like London and Rome and Paris, there would be people just as there were in New York.
And Amelia was heartily sick of people—the smell and the sound of them, the heat and the noise of them, and most of all the way everyone around her wanted something from her. Would she truly be able to be anonymous in a new city, or would some curious newspaperman find her out?
They wouldn’t even need to find her out, she realized. She was unable to go anywhere without a horde following her. On the day she left the hotel, they would all surely see her off at the dock, and all it would take was one word from someone on board and everyone in her new place would know her identity. Would she always be Barnum’s Feejee Mermaid wherever she went?