The Dressmaker (44 page)

Tess closed her eyes, brought back again to the shrieking cacophony of breaking glass, grand pianos tipping into the sea, beds, chamber pots, luggage, people clawing up the deck as the ship sank. Acts of bravery, accusations, stupid behavior—it was all in this room.

“You don’t have to do this, Mrs. Darling,” Senator Smith interrupted gently.

“Yes, I do. I won’t be long, Senator.” She opened her small handbag and drew forth a white linen handkerchief.

“I thought at first that speaking out would help clear my conscience, but that won’t ever happen. I’ve given that idea up,” she said, clutching the handkerchief tightly. “What I believe now is that accepting the reality of my decision is what is important. I can’t forgive my actions, or the actions of another. The rashness of a moment changed my life and my husband’s, and there were probably other quick decisions that changed the lives of other people on that ship. When my husband died, I wanted to place blame. I wanted to
avoid
blame. Not anymore. I want to acknowledge that my character was not strong enough to be brave, and if any others secretly feel the same please know you are not alone. I only hope that, if tested again, I would be up to the task.”

The room was preternaturally still. Tess could hear the breathing of people sitting in the row of chairs nearest to her. If they didn’t want to understand, it didn’t matter. Jean Darling had pointed plain and clear to the sad heart of it all. She had done it, alone.

“Is there more you want to say, Mrs. Darling?”

She straightened her back. “I thought not, when I asked to come, Senator. But I have changed my mind.”

The room stirred.

“What would you like to tell us?”

“It is in reference to Lady Duff Gordon’s testimony.” She drew a ragged breath. “There were opportunities to be brave in that lifeboat
that were not taken. We had room, we had plenty of room. But we were all driven by fear. No, that’s wrong.”

“What do you mean, Mrs. Darling?”

“There was one brave man, and anybody in that boat who denies it is still driven by fear.”

So at least some pieces of this sad puzzle were going to fit together, Senator Smith told himself. “And who was that?” he asked.

“Jim Bonney. And
that
is reality. I’m finished, Senator.”

“Just one moment.” Senator Bolton’s raspy voice cut in, sending a ripple of surprise through the room. “You are not an official witness, madam, and you can refuse to answer. But, given the charges and countercharges about what happened on Lifeboat One, I wonder if you can fill in some of the gaps. Were people trying to get in your boat? Was anyone pushed off? What did you see, exactly?”

Mrs. Darling sat back, a startled look on her face. But when she spoke her voice was composed. “People were calling to us from the water. I saw one man grab the side of the lifeboat to pull himself in.”

“What happened then?”

“I heard a scream, a woman’s scream. I saw a man stand up, holding an oar above his head. Mr. Bonney swore and stood up, wrestling with the man who raised the oar, and got it away from him.”

“Why was it raised?”

“To knock that poor soul off the boat.”

A tingling sensation spread across Tess’s head and neck, as hot as fire, even as her hands turned to ice. Hardly a breath was drawn in the crowded room. This was the truth of what happened in Lifeboat One.

Senator Smith stirred uneasily. This was more than he had bargained for. If he asked now who that person was who raised the oar, he would lose control of these hearings. It would, quite possibly, be seen as the final straw by the British, who were already convinced that he was on a witch hunt.

“Do you have more to say?”

A long silence. “No,” Mrs. Darling said. “It’s over.”

“Thank you, you may step down.” Senator Smith looked out over the array of quiet, stunned faces before him. “Please allow Mrs. Darling to leave before we clear the room.”

Pinky joined Tess, and together they walked out with the almost silent crowd.

“Look,” Pinky said, nodding in the direction of a woman standing, unrecognized, by the open door.

It was Lucile. She had removed her lipstick. Her face was still, lips fading into pale skin, and the black hat had been discarded in favor of a scarf. Without her usual color, she looked like a bird that had been stripped of its plumage—so much so that no one seemed to recognize her. She was suddenly, surprisingly, impossibly small.

Not a word was exchanged as they walked by.

Outside, Tess said quietly to Pinky, “I have to leave now. I have to go pack my things.”

The walk home was peaceful. She felt the warmth of the late-afternoon sun on her neck and took off her hat to lift her face to its rays, taken fleetingly back to the moment that she and Jim stood over the bodies of the mother and baby on the
Carpathia
. I turn my face to the rising sun; O Lord, have mercy.

All the losses. Left with a lifetime of shame and dishonor, Jean Darling had mustered the courage to acknowledge her mistakes, a voluntary action that would be foreign to Lucile. She would never break out of the silky cocoon she had woven for herself. She would most likely rather march grandly over a cliff.

A hoarse shout to look where she was going as a driver clattered by. Tess stepped quickly back from the curb.

It was over, this particular dream. But the Duff Gordons had been stopped from ruining Jim’s life, and that was all that mattered. So she walked now on the streets of New York, once again just a servant girl from Cherbourg without a job. That mattered, too. But not as much. And why did she feel a strange serenity about it all?

“My goodness, Tess, you
are
in a fog. You were ready to walk right by me,” a voice said with light amusement.

“Elinor,” Tess said in surprise. Lucile’s sister stood on the street corner, her always present parasol—a green one, this time—shading her eyes from both the sun and the glances of passersby.

Elinor gestured toward a waiting car, which Tess hadn’t noticed.

“Have you decided to talk to me?”

“I know you’ll want me out of the flat very soon, and if you could give me a week more I would appreciate it. I will repay you for your kindness.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Tess, get in the car.”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

Elinor thrust a copy of the
New York World
toward Tess, her light manner evaporated. “This afternoon’s paper, a little late with the story, but it will be read with some relish around town. If you will just read the headline, please?”

Tess took the paper and held it with both hands, a faint wind rippling the pages. She squinted and read, “Lady Duff Gordon’s ‘Loyal’ Secretary Abandons Ship.”

“Not the front page, mind you. But just wait until tomorrow. I can imagine the headlines now: ‘Secretary Walks Out During Lady Duff Gordon Testimony.’ Things like that. Did you plan it? No, I thought not.”

“Here’s the headline, Elinor: ‘Brave Sailor Vindicated of Vicious Duff Gordon Charges.’ Do you really want to play this game?”

Elinor sighed. “They’re all nails in Lucile’s coffin, my dear. Especially, if you recall, since the spring show is tomorrow. Please talk to me.”

Tess folded the paper and stepped into the car, with Elinor following. A fleeting thought occurred: for the first time in her life, she had been referred to as a “secretary.” Not as a maid.

Elinor rapped on the window that separated the passengers from the driver. “Just drive around, Farley,” she commanded. “Anywhere. Show us some of the sights of New York.” She settled back into her seat, turned to Tess, and wasted no time.

“Cosmo is leaving her. Heading back for London. And over half the reservations for her show have been canceled. She’s slipping, Tess.”

“Cosmo is leaving?” Tess couldn’t believe it.

“She ordered him around one time too many, I’m afraid. That last fight over the sailor cracked things open.”

Tess just stared, puzzled.

“Oh, of course, you don’t know about that. God, I need a cigarette. Do you mind?”

Tess shook her head, waiting.

A match flared, and Elinor’s meticulously manicured fingers touched it to the end of her cigarette. She inhaled deeply. “That’s better,” she said, sighing.

“Will you explain, please?”

“You put on quite a show, denouncing her. But Lucile wasn’t the one trying to get your sailor friend arrested. It was all Cosmo’s idea.”

“Without her knowledge—is that what you’re saying? How could that be?”

“Oh, my dear, you really don’t know how things work in our world, do you? Cosmo is in charge, always has been. There have been a few unfortunate financial setbacks for Lucile’s competitors over the years—nothing that could be tied to him, of course, but he has been devoted to paving the way for her. That’s what he was doing this time.”

Tess covered her mouth with one hand, staring straight ahead. “I was wrong?”

“Don’t overreact,” Elinor said airily. “Remember, Lucy doesn’t want to know the mechanics of how Cosmo gets things done, which isn’t quite the same as being totally innocent. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. And after what she had to say today, don’t even
think
of asking me to go back.”

Elinor seemed to crumple, the air and lightness disappearing. “I know, I know. She is so stubborn and wrong, and if she loses her business
and
Cosmo, I fear for her. Everything that’s been building up has
finally culminated. A rich man can open up the world for you, but he can also close it down. Lucile forgot that, I’m afraid.”

Tess could not hold back what was probably a useless, naïve question. “She’s done such arrogant things. But you are her sister. Do you still love her?”

“Love?” Elinor inhaled, then exhaled a slow spiral of smoke before answering. “I’m not sure what that means. People talk a lot about love, and most of it is rubbish. My sister and I are bonded, and always will be. We’re a pair, and we understand each other. If life doesn’t offer happy endings, we know how to manufacture them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve rewritten my life more than once, you know. And Lucy does the same thing, only with fabric. Romantic, ephemeral clothes that create fantasy—what a lovely way to float through life. But one has to be quick to change direction in order to make it work. She isn’t quick.” Elinor paused, then added quietly, “Do I love her? Yes.”

The two women sat in silence as Farley swung around a corner and drove past Union Square. Tess stared out the window, recognizing the path where she and Jim had walked when she told him about Jack. Just one more hole in her heart that wouldn’t heal.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just show up for the show. Let the reporters know that the ‘secretary’ changed her mind and stayed loyal.”

“I’m not going back, Elinor. I can’t. I may owe Lucile an apology for accusing her of trying to get Jim arrested, but I can’t work for her anymore.”

“Just for the one day. Please. Don’t forget, your sailor got out of that trap.”

“How did you know that?”

“Tess, I make a point of knowing
everything
.”

Jean Darling’s words swam through Tess’s head, not quite absorbed yet, looking for a place. Not forgiving, not excusing. This wasn’t about forgiving; it was about accepting what couldn’t be changed. Offering a helping hand from the lifeboat, perhaps, futile as it might be for both of them.

Did she want Lucile to fail? Yes. She deserved it. No. It would ruin her life and those of the people who worked for her. One last gesture; maybe it would teach Lucile something. She would move forward from that.

“She’ll probably throw me out,” she said.

Elinor smiled. “Maybe—thanks for taking the risk. But my bet is you’ll save her from full humiliation. By the way, I’m paying the rent on your flat until you’re able to do it yourself.”

“Is that supposed to be a bribe? You saved it for last.” She realized once again that she still liked Elinor.

“I don’t do bribes, dear. A waste of time.”

Pinky sat on the edge of her father’s bed, stirring a cup of tepid soup, waiting for him to wake up so she could coax a little food into him. Bad days, good days. This—according to the always complaining Mrs. Dotson—had been a bad day. She wished he would be up for talking tonight. She needed to talk to someone. Lady Duff’s testimony was ludicrous, but it was Jean Darling who made it a smashingly good story. And how did that indictment get dropped? Maybe Jim didn’t care, but she did. And what happened when Jim and Tess confronted each other? She dipped a finger delicately into the bowl of soup and tasted it. Chicken broth with carrots, his favorite, but it was getting cold. Why did she feel so weary?

“So here you sit, moping over cold soup.”

She jumped. Prescott Wade was awake, a remnant of his familiar grin on his face.

“I’ll heat it up,” she said,

“Don’t bother, I’m not hungry anyway.”

“You have to eat.”

“So what happened today?”

She told him about the hearing—about Lucile, about Jim. He was actually listening, unlike those many evenings when he drifted
away and she ended up talking to herself. She hated that feeling of being in an echo chamber.