Page 51 of Six Days in Bombay

A lithe young woman of twenty came in with a tray of tea and biscuits. I realized I was still clutching my trunk, afraid to let it go after the fiasco with my savings. I set it on the floor, against the legs of my chair. I took a steaming cup of tea from the tray and poured a little milk into it. The assistant set Mr. Peabody’s cup on his desk, glancing at me quizzically as she left the room. I’m sure she was wondering why Mr. Peabody was talking to a nurse.

“Mr. Peabody, I was in charge of a patient in Bombay who died at the hospital there. Perhaps you’ve heard of her. Mira Novak. She was a painter.” I’d rehearsed this on the train to downplay my alleged involvement in her death.

His eyebrows rose. “I have. From here. Prague. Oh, dear, oh, dear. I am sorry to hear it. Must send condolences.” He took a biscuit from the tray. “How can I help?”

“She wanted me to inform her closest friend from Prague. Miss Petra…” I didn’t have a last name for her. But if the Novaks were known to Mr. Peabody, he might know their acquaintances.I was hoping they ran in the same social circles. “The Novaks lived next door to her family.”

“That might be Miss Hitzig? Of the Hitzig family? If it’s the same, we’re in luck. Her father is the owner of one of the largest glass companies. Brilliant dinnerware they make. Known all over Europe. Quite forward thinking. Petra Hitzig is the one you’re after?”

I didn’t know if it was the same Petra, but I knew Mira’s family was well-connected, and the Hitzig family sounded like someone they would know. With all the confidence I could muster, I said, “Yes.”

Peabody drained his tea and set it aside. “I’ll tell Regina to give you their address. Other side of the Charles Bridge, I believe. Family will be devastated. The Novaks left quite a few years ago. Since the first war, Jews have been wary. Understandably. Don’t blame the Novaks at all. Hitzig isn’t worried. Quite cozy with the Germans he is. Besides, he has a company to run.” Peabody clasped his hands on his desk. “Do you need accommodations?”

He changed topics as quickly as Mira used to. It took me a moment to realize he’d asked me a question. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll have Regina give you a list of those as well. Travel documents tickety-boo?”

“Dr. Stoddard—Mr. Stoddard’s father—took care of all that in Bombay.” As loathe as I was to admit it, my father’s British citizenship—and Dr. Stoddard’s connections—had helped me get a British passport.

“Never been there myself. Bombay. Can’t take the heat. Break out in hives. Those Indian soldiers. Solid stuff. They’ll come in handy should we go to war again. Well, that’s me done.” He stood and extended his hand. “You’re not, you know—but your name—”

I waited for him to finish. I knew he was asking why I lookedin-between. Now that I’d had practice with the duplicitous Agnes, I felt it was better not to be so forthcoming.

“Not my business. Apologies, miss.”

I shook his outstretched hand and thanked him.

“Oh, hang on, Miss Falstaff. There’s a letter for you.”

My dear Nurse Falstaff,

Did you enjoy that lovely sojourn on the Orient Express? I always say if you’re going to travel, do it in style. Food not too bad, is it? I rather favor their Duck a l’Orange.

Now do let me know how you’re faring on your own. You know you can always trade that sweater for good money if you run out. Mohair is in style, I hear. My wife used to love my sweaters except she told everyone she knit them herself. Drove me mad, that.

I stay busy with old friends who seem to have ended up in Istanbul as well. We play bridge. Some gin rummy. Bezique. I quite like pinochle myself but Germany has taken all the fun out of it. Of course, I cheat because you’re not here to monitor me. Hard to break bad habits when no one is watching you. Quite useful for pocket money though. Edward looks the other way, of course. He sends his love, by the way. I think he was rather taken with you. But I’m an old fool when it comes to love, so ignore me, my dear.

In Prague, try the Beef Tenderloin with Cream Sauce (don’t let them skimp on the sauce!). And there’s always the Pork Knee if you’re feeling adventurous.

I hope to have some good news by the time you get to Paris. Stay well, dear girl.

Yours fondly,

Ralph Stoddard

I had waited until I was back in the embassy’s foyer to read the letter. When I finished, my legs were shaking. I slumped ina chair. How could I tell Dr. Stoddard I had managed to lose half my funds on my first train trip in Europe? He would think me careless and, at worst, a fool. Would he shake his head in disappointment? Or would he laugh in his easy, offhand manner?Nurse Falstaff, I wouldn’t have taken you for such an easy mark!

The female receptionist at the desk was eyeing me. “Bad news?”

I just shook my head and walked out of the building. What would my mother have said about my misfortune? The same thing she would say when I’d come home crying,The girls at school called me yellow eyesorthey refused to play with a Blackie-White. “You’ll need to build up your courage to survive them,beti.” I should have realized then how much courage it had taken her to manage a life without the man who was supposed to love her forever. How much courage it had taken to raise a reminder of that disappointment on her own.

I took a deep breath. I would write to the doctor but leave out the part about the money. He may have been joking about the sweater, but I would never sell something so precious, made especially for me.

Half an hour later, I arrived on foot at the least expensive hostel on the embassy’s list. A frazzled mother balancing a toddler on one hip and a clean set of nappies on the other answered the door. I showed her the note Mr. Peabody had written in Czech for her. She nodded and showed me to my room. It was clean even if the apartment smelled of wet diaper and boiled cabbage. She went to see to her dinner and feed the baby.

I set the trunk on the bed (the springs groaned). To set my mind at ease, I made sure the pouch with my money was still inside. Mr. Peabody had personally exchanged enough pounds to koruny for me to last a few days. I had the Czech bills in my pocket. How would I protect the rest of my savings without taking all the money with me wherever I went?

I unrolled the painting marked for Petra from the trunk and went to find my hostess. She was in the kitchen-cum-diningroom, sitting on a chair at the dining table with the child in her lap, spooning what looked like porridge into his mouth. I mimed putting the painting in a bag that could hang over my shoulder. She pointed to a net bag hanging from the doorknob. I shook my head and looked around. I pointed to the canvas bag sitting on the butcher block, which must have been her market carrier.

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