The Dressmaker (20 page)

“I wanted to check up on you. I figured, well, she’s over in that fancy hotel and my two feet can get me there—find out how we do on stable ground.”

“Well, nothing is moving beneath us.”

“No waves, no dipping horizon, no creaking decks.”

“No water.” She shivered slightly. “Going for a walk feels like—freedom.”

“Can I keep you company?”

She felt wary. “Did you read about Lady Duff Gordon?”

“Yes.” His smile came quickly, then vanished. “It’s amazing what she manages to do to herself.”

“I am still working for her, you know.”

“Yes, I know. We could walk and talk at the same time, couldn’t we?”

The light in his eye was too engaging to resist.

“Yes, we can,” she said. She cast a glance at the doorman, whose eyes traveled the length of Jim’s unprepossessing figure in obvious disapproval.

Jim’s eye followed her glance. “Don’t let him bother you,” he said with a shrug. “He’s probably only months or a year removed from wearing clothes like mine. That’s too close for comfort. I’ll be the guy saving his job one of these days. And you’ll be sweeping by him in ostrich feathers.” Jim spoke with such good-humored confidence, she couldn’t help laughing as they walked away from the hotel.

“Were you there for the testimony today?” she said.

He nodded.

“What did you think?”

“I was proud of the girl who spoke up.”

Tess colored, pleased. “Thank you, but the testimony?”

“We’re lucky we had a man like Rostron bent on saving us,” he said soberly. “He’s brave. Lightoller? Just another corporate man, being careful to use a whitewash brush, that’s what I think.” He paused. “I saw you talking with that woman reporter, or I would have come over at the recess.”

“Have you met her?” Tess was surprised.

“Sure. She was on the
Carpathia
running in every direction, collaring sailors to get them to talk,” he said. “Full of bounce and energy. Not a bad sort. Just doing her job, the way we all are.”

“Did you talk to her?”

He shrugged. “For a few minutes, like the others.”

“I like her,” Tess said hesitantly. “But she still makes me uneasy.”

“She’s got her facts straight, Tess.”

“But she wants villains. Every detail has to lead to something darker.”

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. It was brown, with flecks of gold, something she hadn’t noticed before. It kept falling in his eyes, and he kept flipping it back; she had a sudden impulse to smooth it back for him. “Well, you know how I feel about that,” he said.

“I do. But the newspapers made a mockery of Lucile this morning; it wasn’t fair.”

He gave her a startled look. “Fairness has nothing to do with it. She was no heroine in that boat. And if I’m called to testify I have to tell the truth.”

“You would drag her through the mud?”

“That’s not how I see it.”

“I know she orders everybody around and wants things done her way—oh Jim, we’re not going to spoil our walk with another argument, are we?”

“You think I’m too judgmental.”

“Stubborn. I like that word better.”

“That’s kind of you. ‘Harsh’ is more like it.”

“Yes, I guess it is.”

“Look, I haven’t told you everything.”

Tess pulled her coat closer against the evening chill, but also as a shield. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore; there was no way of explaining Lucile. She was still piecing it together herself. But those small glimpses of someone different underneath—they were real, she was sure of that. She wasn’t being dutiful; this was standing up for someone who needed loyalty. She pressed her lips together, resisting a sudden throbbing in her head. She wouldn’t dwell on it, not now. “I see more to her than you do,” she said.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe at some point you might have to choose who you believe.”

“I don’t want to have to do that.”

“I’ll not put you in that position,” he said slowly.

The tension eased. He took her arm. “No, Miss Collins, I am not going to spoil our walk. Your escort”—he bowed elaborately—“may be a stubborn, clumsy sailor, but he isn’t about to wreck his few precious moments with you.”

She laughed, relieved. He might be only a sailor, but she felt pleasure in his company, and she wanted no quarrels. How good it felt to hear his words dancing teasingly in the air now, not like blunt instruments.

They walked slowly up Fifth Avenue, inhaling the sights and sounds of the largest city Tess had ever seen. A street market was closing down, and they stopped to watch two grizzled puppeteers dismantle a cardboard stage and pack up their puppets, ignoring a group of children clamoring for more performances. A woman in a wrinkled apron offered Tess an apple, and she realized suddenly how hungry she was. But at that moment a street vendor’s pushcart pulled up next to her.

“Hot dog?” Jim said, pointing to the basket of steaming sausages in the man’s cart.

“Dog?” Tess asked, puzzled.

“Frankfurter,”
he said, rolling his eyes. She reddened, then nodded. She remembered what they were now, but such a strange name.

Hot dogs in hand, they continued their walk, drinking in the wonders of New York. They passed a splendid hotel that looked like a French château, and stopped to watch all the elegant carriages pulling up to its doors, depositing and picking up men and women in resplendent evening garb. Silk top hats on the men; lush, low-cut gowns on the women. Some even wore diamond tiaras that sparkled in the light. Which ones might be clients of Lady Duff Gordon? Probably several, Tess thought, feeling a twinge of pride.

The park loomed ahead, a leafy enclave of winding paths and grassy lawns. Together they crossed the street and entered, choosing a path flanked by towering elm trees, watching as the golden light filtering through their leaves began to fade. She lifted her face, comforted by the soft glow of twilight. There were only a few people scattered across the rolling lawns, mainly children—getting in one last toss of the ball before going home for dinner. Jim did most of the talking, at first somberly, telling her about his friend who had died in the ship’s boiler room. Then about the American West, especially California, which he described as a paradise with such fervor that Tess found herself growing interested. All she had ever thought of was getting to this country, not how large and diverse it was. New York alone was overwhelming.

“Think you’d ever want to go there?” he asked.

“Maybe, someday. But not now.”

“You’ll do well in this city,” he said, surveying the lush terrain of Central Park. “I can see it offers what you want.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I can learn design from Lucile—that’s the best part. Meeting her is the biggest stroke of luck I’ve ever had.”

“I might say that about meeting you,” he said quietly.

She felt a second shiver of surprised pleasure.

“I mean,” he continued, flushing slightly, “maybe you can teach her a few things, too.” He looked down at her with such a warm, open expression, she almost believed what he said next. “Our worlds aren’t that different, you know.”

Oh, but they were. An astonishing thought—already? Only days ago it would have been true. And somehow, because of that, perhaps, she felt suddenly free to act on impulse. She took his arm.

“Shall we?” she asked. “Just to prove we can still do it?”

“Why not?” he said, breaking into a grin.

And for just a moment, for a few, brief skips, they were back on the deck of the
Titanic
in the glow of that golden setting sun, before everything changed forever.

They walked slowly back to the Waldorf, walking close, not touching, Tess listening to his droll commentary on their surroundings. He wasn’t intimidated by the gathering theater crowds, the furs, the marvelous black carriages, brass fittings glittering, clattering by. The gas lamps were lit now, their glow rivaling that of the vanished sun. Even the horses in Central Park had their noses in the air, he said. She laughed, deciding on his dare to stroke a lush mahogany beauty, and was delighted when the mare nuzzled at her jacket.

“She wants a treat,” Jim said playfully. “Or maybe she wants you to ‘turn’ her collar. Isn’t that what you do?”

“Well, I’ve never worked in leather—we’d both have to be patient.”

He acknowledged her small joke with a generous laugh. They
moved on, Tess acutely aware that his tall, muscular figure and strong features—in spite of his shabby clothes—were drawing attention as they walked.

“I’ve never thanked you for my carving.” They were in sight of the hotel. He would be gone soon.

“I wanted to make something for you that marked what happened, what we shared,” he said, slowing his step.

“I wish we had been in the same lifeboat.”

He took a deep breath, answering in a low, suddenly impassioned tone. “When I saw you teetering on the edge of the rail, holding those children, I knew you wouldn’t abandon them. And I knew you couldn’t make it into the boat—you wouldn’t have time to jump. I wanted to climb back up the ropes and grab you. It would’ve been impossible, but the sight of you standing there, doomed, never left my thoughts that night.”

They both fell silent. They were almost at the hotel. “So, once more, goodbye,” Jim said. He stopped, then tipped her chin up gently with his hand. His face was so close. Was he going to kiss her? No. But she felt his breath as he said, “Next time, I’m taking you for a ride throught the park in one of those carriages. If you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” she murmured, pushing all thoughts of his being a village boy out of her mind for the moment. Then quite quickly he was gone, whistling striding west.

Slowly she walked toward the hotel, enveloped in a pleasant haze. She would heed her mother’s warnings later, not now.

Ahead of her, a crowd had formed around the hotel. Did this city ever get sleepy? The streets were even more of a scramble here, almost a duel between the cars and the carriages, with drivers shouting at one another, the horses, the people dodging them as they zigzagged, crossing the street.

She saw the center of attention. A newsboy at the door of the Waldorf, clusters of people around him, stood waving the early edition of the next morning’s
New York Times
. Tess hurried past, not ready. But a bellboy who recognized her at the elevators thrust a copy of the paper into her hands. “You’ll want to see this,” he said.

Tess took a deep breath and stared at the headline.

DID COWARDLY BARONET AND HIS WIFE
BRIBE SAILORS NOT TO GO BACK FOR DROWNING?
EYEWITNESS SAYS YES AND HINTS AT MORE

Underneath, the byline: Sarah Wade.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped in, head down. No one else entered with her. The doors closed. For just one fleeting moment, she would be enclosed in a protective box of steel and cable that was impenetrable. How wrong she had been to trust Pinky. Who told her those things? Somebody who hated the Duff Gordons, of course. Was it Jim?

All she knew right now was that when she emerged she would be faced with the ordeal of trying to comfort the woman who only days before was the most invulnerable woman she had ever met. She longed for a slow ascent.

J
ucile threw a towel over the lit lamp, ignoring Cosmo’s complaint about the danger of fire. Right now, she declared, she couldn’t stand any more light than necessary. She couldn’t stand to have anyone see how swollen from crying her eyes were, and the ugly blotchiness of her skin.

“I was right, wasn’t I? Cosmo, tell me I was right.”

“Lucy, you took charge and made a sensible decision to save the lives of the people in our lifeboat. No one can fault you on that.”

“Well, they have. I’ve never been attacked like this.” She flung herself into the sofa’s abundance of silk pillows, her hair matted and disheveled.

Cosmo picked up their copy of the
Times
and threw it into a wicker basket. He sat heavily on the sofa next to his wife. “It’ll be all right,” he said.

“Those men turned on us.”

“All it took was one.”

Simultaneously, they turned toward Tess.