Death at the Paris Exposition by Frances McNamara

Author:Frances McNamara
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction/Mystery & Detective/Historical
Publisher: Allium Press of Chicago
Published: 2016-06-17T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

Bertha Palmer was not satisfied with my report about the outing to Montmartre, since I had not discovered the name of the dead girl’s lover. Lord James had pleaded with me not to mention sighting Honoré there. He claimed the post office had no information about the man who had rented on rue Burq and Honoré had a perfectly innocent reason for keeping a postal address. It was something the Englishman did himself. It left a sour taste in my mouth, but I promised to be discreet. If Honoré had resolved to keep secret some attachment of which his parents would disapprove, not even his dear mother—who was every bit as stubborn as he was—would be able to extract it from him. I actually feared for the effect such tension could have on the elder Mr. Palmer, who was looking rather frail.

So I confided in my husband but not in Bertha Palmer. Stephen agreed with my decision. I almost wished I could escape to Mary Cassatt’s country house with my children. But Mrs. Palmer required my assistance in planning for the reception at the United States National Pavilion. It was located on the Quai d’Orsay on the left bank of the Seine. I had heard that dithering on the part of the United States Congress had delayed the appropriation of funds so, when they finally approved the money, space had to be taken from other countries to make room. As a result, the Americans were third in the row but on a crowded lot. First came an ornate Italian building, then a gorgeous but noisy Turkish pavilion with a full bazaar on the first floor. The white domed United States pavilion was next, nearly touching both the Moorish façade and the side of the Austrian pavilion just beyond. Some of the stodgier visitors complained of the noise from Turkish merchants hawking their wares.

Unlike many other national pavilions, the American one had no merchandise for sale. It was made up of a post office, rooms for reading and writing, and a large central reception area surrounded by four floors of balconies with broad arches on every floor letting in the light. There was even an elevator. Bertha Palmer had a small office on the second floor, along with the other commissioners, but it was nowhere near as spacious and elegant as her suite at rue Brignole, so we weren’t often there. The third floor housed the high commissioner and the fourth was set aside as a place of repose for visiting ladies. There were ten exhibits from the United States scattered across the Exposition grounds, inside the various buildings for industry, arts, electricity, et cetera. But the national pavilion was reserved as a place where our countrymen could come to write and receive letters, or visit the American restaurant on the first floor.

It was a few days after my visit to Montmartre that I accompanied Bertha to the pavilion to oversee last minute preparations for a reception that evening. This was

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