The Dressmaker (26 page)

“We’ve got reports that there were a few survivors who didn’t get counted, probably because they were steerage and didn’t speak English,” Pinky said. “The funny thing is, one rich guy was missed because he was unconscious at first and wearing a ragged jacket.”

Tess stopped dead. “Do you know who it was?”

“A Chicago guy named Jack Bremerton.”

“He’s alive? He’s all right?”

“Yes.” Pinky shot her a quick glance. “You know him?”

“We met on the ship.”

“He’s quite the important person, I’m told. The very famous Henry Ford came to see him, and he’s already back in his office and working again. Sounds to me like he’s still delirious.” She giggled. “By the way, I’ve talked my editor into sending me to Washington tonight for tomorrow’s hearing.”

“Washington?”

“Smith decided to continue in his home territory. The whole crew was sent down there yesterday. Any message you want to give your sailor?”

“He’s not my sailor.” It flustered her to hear the tease in Pinky’s voice. And now she couldn’t ask any more about Mr. Bremerton.

“Well, I’ve talked to you both, and each of you lights up at the mention of the other. Doesn’t mean a thing, of course.”

Tess was only half listening, remembering the handsome, smiling
man with gray hair on the
Titanic
. He was here. Here in this city, now, and as far away as the moon. She wished she could see him. Oh, this was ridiculous—she was harboring a schoolgirl’s crush. In the real world, what she fantasized was impossible. And Jim—Jim was gone, without a word to her.

“Tess? I’m leaving. Any message for Jim?” Pinky raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“No, no message.”

WALDORF-ASTORIA
SUNDAY EVENING, APRIL 21

J
ucile was chattering away, looking very happy as Cosmo buttoned up the back of her beautiful tea gown. “Come in, come in,” she called gaily as Tess entered the suite. “We’re going to have a lovely evening because the most wonderful thing has happened. My sister is here!”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me wonderful,” an amused voice called out from the other room. And then there she was, the handsome woman Tess remembered twirling a parasol on the dock in Cherbourg, stretching out her hand. “Hello, Tess,” she said with a smile. “I’m Elinor Glyn—I don’t think we managed a proper introduction before. I hear you turned out to be anything but a proper maid—thank goodness for that.”

“How did you get here so quickly?” Tess asked, surprised.

“Well, dear, my ship didn’t sink.”

She said it with such light casualness. So there was still, after all, an ordinary world where jokes could be made. Tess liked her immediately.

“Elinor says we’re eating dinner in the Palm Room tonight, no more taking meals up here, like people guilty of something,” Lucile
said, pulling away from Cosmo’s hands and twirling around. “It’s the Darlings that need to keep their heads down now. Did you see the story about his shameful masquerade?” She pulled on white kid gloves and twirled in her long, slender gown of raspberry silk. “Isn’t this the loveliest dress? Maybe I will model it myself at the spring show. Wouldn’t that be different?”

“You are the best model for all your gowns, dear,” said Cosmo promptly, almost automatically. He glanced at his watch and urged his wife to hurry. Their reservation downstairs was in ten minutes.

“Tess, you must join us,” Lucile said. “I have a gown ready for you in the next room.”

It wasn’t really an invitation, of course, more like an order. But Elinor’s arrival had improved Lucile’s mood with astonishing speed. Tess caught her breath when she saw the gown hanging on a closet door. It looked amazingly similar to the one Lucile had given her before the
Titanic
went down. The same colors, the same cut. Had she chosen it on purpose? It slid off the hanger, floating on her fingertips, as flimsy and ethereal as passing time.

The Palm Room—cupped under a magnificent domed ceiling—was filled with the easy formality and discreet murmurings of well-dressed diners. The maître d’ lifted the red velvet rope to admit their party, giving all a deferential bow, including Tess. No gaping, she told herself. Don’t act like a servant girl. All around her, mirrored walls reflected a mixed glow of crystal, amber marble, and candlelight that created an almost bewildering swirl of dancing images. Beautiful.

“Head up, Tess,” murmured Elinor. “You’re dressed like a queen. Enjoy the fact that everyone is looking at us.”

“I don’t feel like one.”

“Pretend, for heaven’s sake.”

Patrons were indeed taking note of their arrival, whispering as they walked past. But there was an edge, a sharpness to their voices, like the sound of a knife swiftly cutting through air.

“They don’t wish us well,” Tess said.

“A mix of envy and malice—the usual thing. Look at my sister; that’s how to do it.”

Lucile, her hand resting in Cosmo’s crooked elbow, was not simply walking but sweeping into the room, as if any moment applause would break out and she would take a triumphant bow. Her face was flushed. To Tess, she looked like a sunflower reaching for light.

“Now, Tess, I have to know. Are you staying or ready to run?”

Seated now, Elinor asked the question in a relaxed, quiet voice, but her eyes were cool. A bottle of champagne was being uncorked by the sommelier, and waiters were hovering, one behind each chair.

“I have no plans to leave,” Tess said, startled.

“Lucy seems to think you may have talent. You’ve got an opportunity to prove yourself, a bigger one than you realize. But things aren’t going to go well here for a while.”

“I know.”

“My sister keeps putting her foot in her mouth. This latest jab at the Darlings was idiotic.”

Tess stirred uncomfortably, not sure if she was expected to agree or simply to wait in silence.

“I’m not trying to test you; I put no value on discretion. On the contrary, I’ve found that strutting one’s stuff gets a woman ahead—at least in the movie business.”

“It’s not quite the same in the servant business,” Tess murmured.

Elinor laughed. “You’re not in it anymore,” she said. “Look, I can’t stay here very long. Much as I want to support my sister, I have to get to Los Angeles.” She tapped an ash from the end of her cigarette into an ashtray, the silver of her delicately slender cigarette holder catching the light. “So let me put it to you plainly. Lucile needs eyes and ears at the shop right now. And you’re the obvious person at the moment. Cosmo found an apartment for you today down near
the Flatiron Building, not far from Lucile’s loft. You can’t stay here—the hotel wants your room. This won’t last too long, but Lucy can’t go home until she gets through her spring show and knows for sure that she won’t have to testify at the inquiry. Then you can do whatever you want. You’ll have references.”

“What does that mean, to be her eyes and ears?”

Elinor shrugged and smiled. “Oh, you’ll know.” Her smile faded as she looked at Lucile chattering away to a silent Cosmo. He was sipping his champagne, his face a study in blankness. “Lucy had better watch out,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“A great many unpleasant things could happen.”

Carefully, Tess picked up a silver fork to eat the salad now before her. Delicate greens, white asparagus, and ham cut into small pieces—but the stuffed olives were most tempting. A quick glance at Elinor assured her that she had chosen the right fork. “Do you think she’ll have to testify? Senator Smith isn’t calling women before the commission.”

“I know; any female who went through that experience is too delicate to speak of it. Such hooey. But Smith might feel forced to. Lucy is deluged with criticism, and it’s her own fault. His, too, for that matter.” She rolled her eyes, glancing at Cosmo. “
Bribing
the crew not to go back? My goodness.”

The maître d’ approached. “A message for Lady Duff Gordon,” he murmured.

“Later, not now,” Lucile said, waving him away.

The maître d’ leaned closer, whispering something in Cosmo’s ear, then handed him the note. Cosmo scanned it quickly, his expression frozen.

“You aren’t listening to me,” Lucile said impatiently. “Must you be reading while I’m talking to you?”

Cosmo pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “I think we’ll finish our meal upstairs,” he said pleasantly to the maître d’. “Send the menus and a waiter up to our suite as quickly as possible.”

“For heaven’s sake—”

“Be quiet, Lucy. Let’s go.”

“But—”

“Hush,” Elinor murmured. She grabbed her sister’s arm. Asking no questions, Tess followed them out of the restaurant, feeling the eyes of the other diners on them once again. She kept her head up, this time with effort.

Cosmo shut the door of the suite and faced them, lips tight and drained of color. “Jordan Darling has hanged himself,” he said, keeping his eyes on Lucile. “His wife found him a few hours ago.”

A shiver—where did it begin, her stomach, her legs?—spread, cold and uncontrollable, through Tess’s body. Her hands began to shake.

“Who is the note from?” Elinor asked.

Cosmo stared at the paper in his hand as if it might explode at any moment. “His wife. It’s for Lucile.”

“I don’t want to see it,” Lucile said. The flesh beneath her chin was trembling.

“You will have to hear it, then.” Cosmo passed the note to Elinor, who read aloud one scrawled sentence at the end of the message, the letters in wavery purple ink.

Why were you so cruel?

Lucile sank into a chair with a moan, covering her face with her hands.

“She’s distraught—you didn’t do this,” Elinor said quickly.

The shiver had subsided, but Lucile’s denunciation of Darling on the
Carpathia
scratched at Tess’s brain. No, no, Lucile didn’t kill him—no, that was horrible.

“But I did play a part,” Lucile said slowly.

Only then was Tess able to release her pity and desire to comfort by speaking up. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Lucile looked up, her eyes grateful. “Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t leave this suite tomorrow, Lucy,” Cosmo said. “Pull back. I will tell everyone you are in mourning. Do you hear me? And, for God’s sake, do not talk to any reporters.”