Page 11 of Two Wars and a Wedding
Mrs. MacHugh rose with her. “Do you still lodge at the Grande Bretagne?”
“For the moment.” It was rather a sore point. “I shall have to find some more permanent accommodation, but the options are limited. The American School doesn’t see fit to house its female students.”
“Where shall you go?” asked Mrs. MacHugh.
Betsy made a face. “There’s a Presbyterian minister with a room, I gather.”
“I doubt he’d approve of the cancan,” said Monsieur de Robecourt blandly.
“Hush, Charles.” Mrs. MacHugh thought for a moment and then said decidedly, “It’s very simple. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it before. You must stay with me.”
Betsy stared at her, at the ormolu ornaments and the classical statuary and the peacock feathers in vases. “Here?”
“But why not?” Having had the idea, Mrs. MacHugh seemed quite enchanted by it. “There are rooms enough and not nearly enough people to fill them. It will be just the thing—for both of us. I have four sisters, all gone off in the world, and I miss them terribly. You can entertain me with your strategies.”
“But what of Miss Hayes?” interjected Monsieur de Robecourt. “She is here to engage in serious study. What must she think of your menagerie?”
“Menagerie?” asked Betsy, glancing around as if expecting a tiger to appear at any moment. It wouldn’t have surprised her.
“Artists and authors and cabinet ministers . . .” Monsieur de Robecourt shook his head sadly. “I don’t believe there’s a poet, politician, or courtier who hasn’t made his way through Madame MacHugh’s salon.”
“Including French classicists?” Betsy entered the fray on her new friend’s behalf.
Monsieur de Robecourt bowed. “A veritable hit.”
“Very well done!” said Mrs. MacHugh approvingly. “You’ll do splendidly. Do stay.”
Betsy did rather think it would do splendidly. It was certainly better than boarding with the Reverend Kalopothakes. Why should she question good fortune when it came calling? she thought giddily.
This, at last, was life. This was the world in all its glory and it was welcoming her in.
“You’ll have to let me pay for my board,” Betsy said firmly. Foreigners—aristocratic foreigners—might go living in one another’s houses, but she was a Yankee and independent, and it was best her hostess knew that from the outset.
“Certainly,” said Mrs. MacHugh gravely. “One peppercorn the quarter.”
“Fifty drachma and no less.”
“Fifty drachma and you let me introduce you to my dressmaker.”
“Done,” said Betsy, and held out a hand to seal the bargain.
She had a feeling this was the start of wonderful things.
Chapter Three
The world has congregated on the verandah of the Tampa Bay Hotel, with everyone from foreign diplomats to your own humble correspondent, as we all wait, in the Florida heat, for the answer to that great question: When will our brave boys set off to liberate Cuba?
One thing I can tell you: the waiting period has been considerably enlivened by the recent arrival on the scene of those riotous roisterers, Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, who chugged into town this week with a lion cub, a dog named Cuba, and those relentless high spirits for which they are famed.
It’s not surprising their mascot is a lion: this ragtag band of cowboys, Fifth Avenue dandies, and Harvard men are the lions of the camp. Everyone is angling for a glimpse of them and their charismatic commander. . . .
—Miss Katherine Carson for the St. Louis Star Ledger, June 3, 1898
* * *
Tampa, Florida
June 3, 1898
