The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [99]
Minnie’s dark eyes twinkled at the thought of a baby crying in French, even as tears still rolled down her cheeks. She laughed, just as I’d hoped she would, her little dimple showing. And I relaxed—for the moment, anyway—and proposed that we dress for dinner.
I have fond memories of that first journey across the ocean. The weather was fine much of the time, and, dragging my steps with me wherever I went, I was able to look over the railing, marveling at the whitecaps, the seagulls that followed us like a noisy white cloud, the occasional whale surfacing perilously close to the boat, so much more thrilling to see than the poor whale in his tub back at the Museum!
In particular, I enjoyed the brisk, salty slap of wind against my face. I timed it so that I would walk out, bareheaded, stairs in hand, toward the prow of the ship just when the winds were fiercest; the sailors at first were amused, but soon enough they ignored me. I would climb my stairs—well away from the rail—and face the wind with gritted teeth and shut eyes, welcoming that first harsh sting against my soft, protected skin that had never been without a hat, bonnet, or veil. Invariably, it brought tears to my eyes—welcome tears.
For I needed to be punished. I needed to atone for what I had done and for what I still must do, as Minnie continued her discussions of the new baby and even knitted a blanket for it. I deserved every slap in the face that the cold North Atlantic winds could give me. I deserved more, even. But I had to content myself with that.
LANDING IN LIVERPOOL, WE SPENT THE NIGHT AT LINN’S WATERLOO Hotel, thinking that we would make a very quiet journey on to London the next day. The next day, however, was Mayor’s Day, and the city was thronged with sightseers eager to see the grand parade. So loud were the crowds that we ran to our balconies to see what was happening; in a flash, the crowd had turned toward us and was waving and shouting its welcome.
“Well, if it isn’t Tom Thumb and his little bride!”
“Welcome back, General!”
“ ’Ope you ’ad a safe crossing!”
Soon the street in front of our balcony was thoroughly blocked—and so was the mayor’s parade! We retired quickly inside our suite so that the parade could continue, although the cheering for us resounded unabated.
This was just a glimpse of the extraordinary adoration we found waiting for us all through the rest of our trip. I had dreamed and dreamed of this moment, and was not disappointed. To see, with my own eyes, the places I had read of in my history books was an experience I will always cherish.
From Liverpool we journeyed to London. There we were guests of the Prince and Princess of Wales at Marlborough House. The Prince and Charles shared a touching reunion, as the Prince had been a boy the time Charles visited his mother the Queen in 1847, and remembered him well. He also remembered being sent up to bed much too soon; fancy, the future King of England being sent up to bed just like any boy!
The Princess of Wales, a stunning dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty with the tiniest waist I’d ever seen, did not say a great deal; I felt she was not very confident of her English, since she was of Dutch ancestry. However, she did not have to speak; her beauty was more than enough contribution to our pleasure, Charles’s and mine. (Minnie and Commodore Nutt did not join us; they were not always invited where we were, and while Minnie never minded, I’m afraid Commodore Nutt did. His impish, elfin face could scrunch itself up into petulance so swiftly, as if it were made of rubber. Indeed, he threatened, many times, to go off by himself at night and find his own fun. This worried good Mr. Bleeker so that I’m quite sure he spent more than one night camped out before the Commodore’s door as a precaution!)
While I truly felt bad for Minnie and the Commodore, my spirits could not be dampened, and at times I had to refrain from pinching myself. Was it possible that I, Mercy Lavinia Warren Bump Stratton, was having tea with the future King and Queen of England?