and the great majority accepted only single men. A few were willing to accommodate entire families in one or perhaps two bedrooms, though they were obliged to take their meals with other residents in the communal dining room. Most of these establishments occupied brownstones that had been deserted by the fashionable in the rush uptown. Never mind that every house built in the city after 1840 was equipped with running water, indoor plumbing, gas lighting, and central heating; if it was below Tenth Street it was no longer a place where a family with even modest social pretensions chose to live, and it was promptly sold and turned into a dwelling for the masses who could afford better than a rookery or a slightly less-crowded tenement, but not a whole house.
Edith Hamilton’s rooming house on Twenty-Third Street was an exception only in that it was reserved for those relatively few single ladies who did not live with their families. Mollie sometimes amused herself by thinking of the ways in which her present situation was like living at her aunt’s. Here as at Brannigan’s, six single women lived under another woman’s care and constant observation, but nothing on God’s green earth was more proper than Miss Hamilton’s Residence for Ladies.
Room and board cost fifteen dollars a week (not an inconsiderable amount considering that the poor souls in the rookeries paid a few pennies a night and those in the tenements fifteen dollars a month). Meals at Miss Hamilton’s were served at precise hours: breakfast at half past six and a light supper at seven-thirty. On Sundays there was as well a midday meal at one. Among the house’s amenities was a single bathing room with a large porcelain tub and big brass taps. Each lady was assigned a weekly half hour in which to use the facility. Apart from that she had a washstand with a large bowl in her room, and permission to fill a pitcher with hot water twice daily. The bedrooms were austere in their appointments, the greatest luxury apart from the washstand being that every room was provided with a Bible.And while it went without saying that no males were permitted above stairs, the women were also forbidden to visit each other’s bedrooms. Visiting, according to Edith Hamilton, was a thing meant to be done when one was fully and appropriately clothed.
A ground-floor sitting room was provided for the purpose of social intercourse. Moreover, though at twenty-two Mollie was the youngest of the residents, not even the eldest, a seventy-year-old who had been a governess, was permitted to entertain a gentleman caller without Miss Hamilton acting as chaperone. That was true when the former governess’s elderly brother came to see her, and definitely true on the two occasions when Joshua Turner, having cornered Mollie in her workroom and more or less invited himself, showed up for Sunday afternoon tea.
On the occasion of the second visit Josh put up with Edith Hamilton’s restrictive oversight for no more than ten minutes, then stood up, crossed to Mollie—Miss Hamilton had arranged them in two chairs with the tea table between—and took her hand. “It is far too nice an afternoon to be cooped up in here, Miss Popandropolos. We are going for a walk.” With that he pulled her up, nodded toward the chaperone, and practically pushed himself and Mollie out the front door.
He made straight for Madison Square Park across the street, and steered them toward the Twenty-Sixth Street end, though he stopped as soon as they were well inside the leafy fastness. “The old biddy won’t see us here, even if she’s peeking through the lace curtains. Now,” gesturing at two benches with his stick, “sun or shade?”
“Sun,” Mollie said, choosing the bench bathed in the soft light of the waning April afternoon. “Or we can stroll if you prefer.” Then, her glance dropping to his peg leg, “I mean because you said . . .”
“I know what you meant. Don’t fuss. I never take offense.
Edith Hamilton’s rooming house on Twenty-Third Street was an exception only in that it was reserved for those relatively few single ladies who did not live with their families. Mollie sometimes amused herself by thinking of the ways in which her present situation was like living at her aunt’s. Here as at Brannigan’s, six single women lived under another woman’s care and constant observation, but nothing on God’s green earth was more proper than Miss Hamilton’s Residence for Ladies.
Room and board cost fifteen dollars a week (not an inconsiderable amount considering that the poor souls in the rookeries paid a few pennies a night and those in the tenements fifteen dollars a month). Meals at Miss Hamilton’s were served at precise hours: breakfast at half past six and a light supper at seven-thirty. On Sundays there was as well a midday meal at one. Among the house’s amenities was a single bathing room with a large porcelain tub and big brass taps. Each lady was assigned a weekly half hour in which to use the facility. Apart from that she had a washstand with a large bowl in her room, and permission to fill a pitcher with hot water twice daily. The bedrooms were austere in their appointments, the greatest luxury apart from the washstand being that every room was provided with a Bible.And while it went without saying that no males were permitted above stairs, the women were also forbidden to visit each other’s bedrooms. Visiting, according to Edith Hamilton, was a thing meant to be done when one was fully and appropriately clothed.
A ground-floor sitting room was provided for the purpose of social intercourse. Moreover, though at twenty-two Mollie was the youngest of the residents, not even the eldest, a seventy-year-old who had been a governess, was permitted to entertain a gentleman caller without Miss Hamilton acting as chaperone. That was true when the former governess’s elderly brother came to see her, and definitely true on the two occasions when Joshua Turner, having cornered Mollie in her workroom and more or less invited himself, showed up for Sunday afternoon tea.
On the occasion of the second visit Josh put up with Edith Hamilton’s restrictive oversight for no more than ten minutes, then stood up, crossed to Mollie—Miss Hamilton had arranged them in two chairs with the tea table between—and took her hand. “It is far too nice an afternoon to be cooped up in here, Miss Popandropolos. We are going for a walk.” With that he pulled her up, nodded toward the chaperone, and practically pushed himself and Mollie out the front door.
He made straight for Madison Square Park across the street, and steered them toward the Twenty-Sixth Street end, though he stopped as soon as they were well inside the leafy fastness. “The old biddy won’t see us here, even if she’s peeking through the lace curtains. Now,” gesturing at two benches with his stick, “sun or shade?”
“Sun,” Mollie said, choosing the bench bathed in the soft light of the waning April afternoon. “Or we can stroll if you prefer.” Then, her glance dropping to his peg leg, “I mean because you said . . .”
“I know what you meant. Don’t fuss. I never take offense.
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