The Dressmaker (43 page)

Jim appeared so quickly that Tess had no chance to prepare herself. He looked different somehow. He was dressed in new clothes, a crisp shirt and sweater, but that wasn’t it. No, there was more—a different kind of energy to him, a focus. She felt suddenly awkward.

“Hello, Tess.” His smile was bright but carefully impersonal, his manner calm. He didn’t look flustered at all. “I hear you quit your job with Lady Duff.”

Tess nodded, not trusting her voice.

“You didn’t need to do that, not for me. It was your big opportunity, and I don’t want that to be lost to you.”

“She wanted to damage you, and I had to fight back.”

“So when she went right ahead—”

“I had to quit. You mean more to me than the job,” she said simply.

His steady gaze faltered. Behind them, the grandfather clock in the Waldorf’s lobby began to strike the hour, heavily and ponderously. She counted. It took him eight strokes before he responded.

“I don’t understand. Not given what changed between us.”

“It was the only thing I could do. My only power.” She laced her fingers together, pressing them tightly in front of her.

He looked at her, both baffled and cautious. “Explain, please. Why, for me?”

She wavered. If she could only reach down inside herself and pull out the right words. If she could yank them forth, cup her hands around them, offer them—what were they? She thought of Jack. His steadiness, his confidence. And then the moment passed, lost somewhere in the seconds marked by the ticking clock.

He shrugged. “I guess you don’t know why. Punishing yourself like that for a village boy was probably a bad move.”

She turned her head away. “Jim, please.”

“I’m sorry, Tess. That was petty of me. It just came out, I guess.”

“You’re angry.”

“Because you tossed me over?” He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets with a touch of swagger. “Yes, I guess I am. But I don’t want you hurt.”

“Jim, I’m so sorry, I want us—”

The sad, steady look he gave her silenced her. They both stood for a moment, neither able now to find any words, let alone the right ones. Then Jim nodded toward the rapidly filling rows of chairs. “Better grab yourself a seat before they’re all gone. I assume you’re not here to offer Lady Duff your moral support?”

“No.” She had found her voice. “I saw you.”

This time he was the one who hesitated before speaking. “Tess, the indictment was withdrawn this morning. I’m clear to stay.”

“Oh, my goodness, what wonderful news,” she gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. “I am so relieved, so glad. Who did it? Was it Mrs. Brown?”

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t know how it happened, but it did.” He smiled, differently this time. There was a glint of something in his eyes, but he blinked it away, then turned to make his way through the crowd and out the door.

By ten o’clock, the East Room and lobby were jammed with people packed together more tightly than ever. Tess tried to make her way out of the crowd, planning to listen from the doorway, but she couldn’t move. She sank into the only seat left, near Pinky, as Senator Smith banged his gavel once again.

“Our first witness this morning will be Lady Lucile Duff Gordon,” he announced. “Please make way for the witness to move forward.”

And, in almost eerie obedience, the crowd parted.

Lucile walked slowly through the opening space to the front of
the room, a tiny figure all in black, wearing a large black hat with a veil covering her eyes. In one hand she clutched a snowy white handkerchief. The room went almost completely still as she settled into the witness chair.

Senator Smith glanced at his fellow committee members a bit uneasily. This was no frightened, illiterate crewman. And all Britain would be ready to pounce if he didn’t handle it right.

“Lady Duff Gordon, tell us about how you and your husband came to be in Lifeboat One. Let’s start there,” he said.

“Of course, Senator,” she said with calm hauteur. “I had quite made up my mind that we would be drowned, and then suddenly we saw this little boat in front of us—a tiny thing—and I said to my husband, ‘Ought we not to be doing something?’ My husband asked if we might get into that boat, and the officer said in a very polite way indeed, ‘Oh, certainly, do; I will be very pleased. And then we were helped in.’ ”

Tess glanced at Pinky, who raised an eyebrow. What sort of singsong manner was this?

The questions continued, becoming less general; Lucile went on answering in a strong, haughty voice, painting an almost ludicrous picture of politeness and gentility in Lifeboat One, dabbing periodically at her eyes with the handkerchief.

“Now I must ask you, after the
Titanic
sank did you hear the cries of the people who were drowning?”

“No, after the
Titanic
sank, I never heard a cry.”

“You did not hear any cries at all?” Smith asked, incredulous.

She looked at him, matching his own tone of incredulity. “Wouldn’t I know, Senator? My impression was there was absolute silence.”

It was said with such serene certitude that the room exuded hushed awe. A good performance deserved appreciation. Everyone knew it wasn’t true, but this small woman on the stand was, by the strength of her will, determined to make it true.

“Did you hear anybody shout out in the boat that you ought to go back, with the object of saving people?”

“No.”

“You knew there were people in the water, did you not?”

“No, I don’t think I was thinking anything about it.”

“Did you say it would be dangerous to go back, that you might get swamped?”

“Heavens, no.”

Senator Smith held up a copy of the
Sunday American
with Lucile’s interview. “You speak in this interview of hearing agonizing pleadings for help. Which is it, madam?”

She never hesitated. “That so-called interview is a total invention,” she said. “A disgusting journalistic invention.”

Tess could hardly sit still. Was she really saying all this?

“And what about the rumors that your husband paid off the crew members so they would not go back to help the dying?”

“He can speak for himself, of course. But all he offered was a little help for them to get started again.” Her voice was becoming more brisk and impatient.

“Your testimony quite drastically differs from that of the seaman Jim Bonney.”

“Well, of course it does. He is a menace, as far as I am concerned. And, if I may say so, a liar.”

Tess found herself rising to her feet, staring at Lucile, oblivious of the eyes now turning in her direction.

“I assumed that’s what you thought,” another committee member murmured. “But we need you on the record. What do you have to say to his charge that people were pushed away from Lifeboat One? That some were close enough to be pulled into your almost empty boat?”

“Total nonsense.”

Tess could stand no more. She began pushing her way out of the room, not caring who watched or who knew her identity. But she felt Lucile’s eyes following her. It struck her that one always knew when Lucile was watching.

Lucile turned to Smith, her voice wobbling slightly. “How much more of this, Senator? I really am a busy woman.”

“Madam, we are dealing with life and death here,” Smith retorted. “Your lack of patience is disturbing.”

“I’m sorry I do not meet your expectations. May I go now?”

The panel was silent; the room was silent.

“You are dismissed,” Smith finally said. “But”—he raised a hand as the crowd began to stir—“after a short break, we have another witness this morning.” He paused for added effect, then said, “Mrs. Jordan Darling, who was also on Lifeboat One.”

Lucile’s hat slipped, her startled eyes suddenly visible. She gripped the edges of her chair, stumbling slightly as she rose. A lively murmur immediately swept the room. The widow, yes, the widow of the man who disguised himself as a woman and then, publicly exposed, committed suicide. Can you believe it? Why would she want to face the public after her husband’s cowardly behavior?

Pinky was already squeezing her way through the crowd, trying to reach Tess. But Elinor reached her first.

“I must talk to you this afternoon,” she said. “Truly, it’s urgent.”

“About
what
?” Tess replied angrily. “About your sister’s lies?”

“I’ve not lied to you, Tess. I’m saying talk to me. Please.”

Tess took a deep breath, replying just as Pinky, breathless, reached her side. “I’ll decide after I hear what Jean Darling has to say.”

Senator Smith was quite pleased with himself as he surveyed the crowded room. Lady Duff Gordon had made a mistake if she thought her arrogance would win the day in an American inquiry. No one could accuse him of having hog-tied a member of the British upper class; the silly woman did it to herself.
Entitlement
, that was the right word. He would be glad to be done with the lot of them.

“Our next witness is not here under subpoena,” he began. “She has specifically asked for this opportunity to put on the record a few thoughts on the frailty of human character in the face of tragedy.” He stared out across the quiet room, relishing the reaction to his modest note of suspense.

“Will Mrs. Jordan Darling please take the stand?”

Tess swiveled in her seat, watching the graceful, lithe figure of
Jean Darling as she threaded her way through the clutter of chairs to the front of the room. She wore a gray jacket and skirt, with a string of tiny pearls at her throat. She held her head high. The lights from above glittered off her impeccably arranged hair, which was now almost pure white. A flash of memory took Tess back to the moment when she saw the Darlings dance, all poise and lightness, onto the
Titanic
. A delicious, airy moment filled with ripples of delighted laughter and applause. Gone forever.

“It is not necessary for you to offer testimony,” Senator Smith began. Would she break down? You never knew with women, and the more genteel they were, the less predictable. “I want to emphasize that your appearance here is purely voluntary, at your request. I want that noted for the record. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Senator.”

“We are all aware of your husband’s unfortunate demise, and I wish to offer my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you tell us why you wished to come here today?”

Jean Darling appeared quite calm as she gazed out at the room. Her demeanor was serene—that of a woman who had asked to do this and was not going to indulge in qualms now. Even if it meant being burned again in the ferocious gaze of the newspapers or subjected to more jeers and derision.

“I am in awe of the stories of bravery I’ve heard during these hearings,” she began. “The man who took off his life belt and put it on his wife’s maid? I know my husband would have wanted to be that man.” She paused, the crispness of her usual ladylike tone softening. “But I must tell you, only part of me regrets that he wasn’t. Another part would still snatch a cloth from a table and throw it around his shoulders, anything to save his life. Even though”—her voice was shaking now—“I as much as killed him with that gesture. I will be haunted all my life by three things: the fact that I did not let my
husband die the way he would have preferred, and the fact that it did not occur to me to join him. The third, and worst, is that perhaps the lives of two children could have been saved by our both standing back.”